SINCLA1 


Oh!  "  she  gasped. 
FRONTISPIECE. 


"Why  — it's  gold!" 
See  Page  231. 


NORTH  OF 
FIFTY-THREE 


BY 

BERTRAND  W.  SINCLAIR 

AUTHOR  OF 
THE  LAND  OF  FROZEN  SUNS,  ETC, 


WITH   ILLUSTRATIONS  BY 

ANTON  OTTO  FISCHER 


NEW  YORK 

GROSSET   &   DUNLAP 

PUBLISHERS 


Made  in  the  United  States  of  America 


Copyright,  ipi<?, 
LITTLE,  BROWN,  AND  COMPANY. 


All  rights  reserved. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTERS  -AOE 

I.  WHICH    INTRODUCES    A    LADY    AND    Two 

GENTLEMEN        1 

II.  HEART,  HAND  —  AND  POCKETBOOK     .        .        9 

III.  "I  Do  GIVE  AND  BEQUEATH"    ...      23 

TV.  AN  EXPLANATION  DEMANDED     ...      84 

V.  THE  WAT  OF  THE  WORLD  AT  LARGE         .      43 

VI.     CARIBOO  MEADOWS 57 

VII.  A  DIFFERENT  SORT  OF  MAN       ...      73 

VIII.    IN  DEEP  WATER 88 

IX.  THE  HOUSE  THAT  JACK  BUILT  .        .        .     101 

X.  A  LITTLE  PERSONAL  HISTORY    .        .        .113 

XI.  WINTER  —  AND  A  TRUCE     .        .        .        .127 

XII.  THE  FIRES  OF  SPRING         ....     138 

XIII.  THE  OUT  TRAIL 144 

XIV.  THE  DRONE  OF  THE  HIVE  .        .        .        .153 
XV.  AN  ENDING  AND  A  BEGINNING   .        i<        .167 

XVI.  A  BRIEF  TIME  OF  PLANNING      .        .        .174 

XVII.     EN  ROUTE 185' 

XVIII.  THE  WINTERING  PLACE       .        .        .        .194 

XIX.  FOUR  WALLS  AND  A  ROOF         ...    203 

XX.  BOREAS  CHANTS  His  LAY  .        .        .        .211 

XXI.  JACK  FROST  WITHDRAWS            •        •        .    219 


2138345   ' 


vi 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTERS  PAGB 

XXII.  THE  STRIKE        ...               •        .  225 

XXIII.  THE  STRESS  or  THE  TRAIL     .        .        .  234 

XXIV,  NEIGHBORS 246 

XXV.  THE  DOLLAR  CHASEBS  .        .        .259 

XXVI.  A  BUSINESS  PROPOSITION         .        .        .  271 

XXVIL  A  BUSINESS  JOURNEY       .        .        .        .281 

XXVIIL  THE  BOMB 286 

XXIX.  THE  NOTE  DISCORDANT   ....  297 

XXX.  THE  AFTERMATH 301 

XXXI.  A  LETTER  FROM  BILL      ....  309 

XXXIL  THE  SPUR 321 

XXXIII.  HOME  AGAIN 830 

XXXIV.  AFTER  MANY  DAYS  .                         ,        .  837 


List  of  Illustrations 


•*  Oh  I "  she  gasped.     «  Why  —  it's  gold !  "  .         .  Frontispiece 

Roaring  Bill  Wagstaff  stood  within  five  feet  of 
her,  resting  one  hand  on  the  muzzle  of  his 
grounded  rifle PAGE  105 

"Hurt?     No,"   he   murmured;   "I'm  just  plain 

scared." "      150 

Bill  stood   before   the   fireplace,  his   shaggy  lur 

cap  pushed  far  back  on  his  head        .        .        .         "      341 


NORTH  OF  FIFTY-THREE 

CHAPTER  I 

WHICH    INTBODUCES    A    LADY   AND    TWO    GENTLEMEN 

Dressed  in  a  plain  white  shirt  waist  and  an  equally 
plain  black  cloth  skirt,  Miss  Hazel  Weir,  on  week  days, 
was  merely  a  unit  in  the  office  force  of  Harrington  & 
Bush,  implement  manufacturers.  Neither  in  person 
ality  nor  in  garb  would  a  casual  glance  have  differen 
tiated  her  from  the  other  female  units,  occupied  at 
various  desks.  A  close  observer  might  have  noticed 
that  she  was  a  bit  younger  than  the  others,  possessed 
of  a  clear  skin  and  large  eyes  that  seemed  to  hold  all 
the  shades  between  purple  and  gray  —  eyes,  moreover, 
that  had  not  yet  begun  to  weaken  from  long  applica 
tion  to  clerical  work.  A  business  office  is  no  place  for 
a  woman  to  parade  her  personal  charms.  The  measure 
of  her  worth  there  is  simply  the  measure  of  her  efficiency 
at  her  machine  or  ledgers.  So  that  if  any  member  of 
the  firm  had  been  asked  what  sort  of  a  girl  Miss  Hazel 
Weir  might  be,  he  would  probably  have  replied  —  and 
with  utmost  truth  —  that  Miss  Weir  was  a  capable  ste 
nographer. 

But   when    Saturday   evening   released   Miss   Haze> 


3  NORTH    OF   FIFTY-THREE 

Weir  from  the  plain  brick  office  building,  she  became, 
until  she  donned  her  working  clothes  at  seven  A.  M. 
Monday  morning,  quite  a  different  sort  of  a  person. 
In  other  words,  she  chucked  the  plain  shirt  waist  and  the 
plain  skirt  into  the  discard,  got  into  such  a  dress  as 
a  normal  girl  of  twenty-two  delights  to  put  on,  and  de- 
.voted  a  half  hour  or  so  to  '*  doing  "  her  hair.  Which 
naturally  effected  a  more  or  less  complete  transforma* 
tion,  a  transformation  that  was  subjective  as  well  as 
purely  objective.  For  Miss  Weir  then  became  an  en 
tity  at  which  few  persons  of  either  sex  failed  to  take  a 
second  glance. 

Upon  a  certain  Saturday  night  Miss  Weir  came 
home  from  an  informal  little  party  escorted  by  a  yov»ag 
man.  They  stopped  at  the  front  gate. 

"  I'll  be  here  at  ten  sharp,"  said  he.  "  And  you  get 
a  good  beauty  sleep  to-night,  Hazel.  That  confounded 
office !  I  hate  to  think  of  you  drudging  away  at  it.  I 
wish  we  were  ready  to  — " 

"Oh,  bother  the  office!"  she  replied  lightly.  "I 
don't  think  of  it  out  of  office  hours.  Anyway,  I  don't 
mind.  It  doesn't  tire  me.  I  will  be  ready  at  ten  thi* 
time.  Good  night,  dear." 

"  Good  night,  Hazie,"  he  whispered.  "  Here's  a  kiss 
to  dream  on." 

Miss  Weir  broke  away  from  him  laughingly,  ran 
along  the  path,  and  up  the  steps,  kissed  her  finger-tips 
to  the  lingering  figure  by  the  gate,  and  went  in. 

"  Bed,"  she  soliloquized,  "  is  the  place  for  me  right 
quickly  if  I'm  going  to  be  up  and  dressed  and  have  that 
lunch  ready  by  ten  o'clock.  I  wish  I  weren't  such  a 


A    LADY    AND    TWO    GENTLEMEN        3 

sleepyhead  —  or  else  that  I  weren't  a  '  pore  wurrkin' 
gurl.'  " 

At  which  last  conceit  she  laughed  softly.  Because, 
for  a  "  pore  wurrkin'  gurl,"  Miss  Weir  was  fairly  well 
content  with  her  lot.  She  had  no  one  dependent  on 
her  —  a  state  of  affairs  which,  if  it  occasionally  leads 
to  loneliness,  has  its  compensations.  Her  salary  as  a 
stenographer  amply  covered  her  living  expenses,  and 
even  permitted  her  to  put  by  a  few  dollars  monthly. 
She  had  grown  up  in  Granville.  She  had  her  own  cir 
cle  of  friends.  So  that  she  was  comfortable,  even 
happ3r,  in  the  present  —  and  Jack  Barrow  proposed  to 
settle  the  problem  of  her  future ;  with  youth's  optimism, 
they  two  considered  it  already  settled.  Six  months 
more,  and  there  was  to  be  a  wedding,  a  three-weeks' 
honeymoon,  and  a  final  settling  down  in  a  little  cottage 
on  the  West  Side ;  everybody  in  Granville  who  amounted 
to  anything  lived  on  the  West  Side.  Then  she  would 
have  nothing  to  do  but  make  the  home  nest  cozy,  while 
Jack  kept  pace  with  a  real-estate  business  that  was 
growing  beymd  his  most  sanguine  expectations. 

She  threw  her  light  wraps  over  the  back  of  a  chair, 
and,  standing  before  her  dresser,  took  the  multitude  of 
pins  out  of  her  hair  and  tumbled  it,  a  cloudy  black  mass, 
about  her  shoulders.  Occupying  the  center  of  the 
dresser,  in  a  leaning  silver  frame,  stood  a  picture  of 
Jack  Barrow.  She  stood  looking  at  it  a  minute,  smil 
ing  absently.  It  was  spring,  and  her  landlady's  daugh 
ter  had  set  a  bunch  of  wild  flowers  in  a  jar  beside  the 
picture.  Hazel  picked  out  a  daisy  and  plucked  away 
the  petals  one  by  one. 


$  NORTH    OF   FIFTY-THREE 

"  He  loves  me  —  he  loves  me  not  —  he  loves  me  — ** 
Her  lips  formed  the  words  inaudibly,  as  countless  lips 
have  formed  them  in  love's  history,  and  the  last  petal 
fluttered  away  at  "not." 

She  smiled. 

"  I  wonder  if  that's  an  omen  ? "  she  murmured 
5*  Pshaw !  What  a  silly  idea !  I'm  going  to  bed. 
Good  night,  Johnny  boy." 

She  kissed  her  finger-tips  to  him  again  across  the 
rooftops  all  grimed  with  a  winter's  soot,  and  within 
fifteen  minutes  Miss  Weir  wa§  sound  asleep. 

She  gave  the  lie,  for  once,  to  the  saying  that  a  woman 
is  never  ready  at  the  appointed  time  by  being  on  the 
steps  a  full  ten  minutes  before  Jack  Barrow  appeared. 
They  walked  to  the  corner  and  caught  a  car,  and  in  the 
span  of  half  an  hour  got  off  at  Granville  Park. 

The  city  fathers,  hampered  in  days  gone  by  with 
lack  of  municipal  funds,  had  left  the  two-hundred-acre 
square  of  the  park  pretty  much  as  nature  made  it ;  that 
is  to  say,  there  was  no  ornate  parking,  no  attempt  at 
landscape  gardening.  Ancient  maples  spread  their 
crooked  arms  untrimmed,  standing  in  haphazard 
groves.  Wherever  the  greensward  flourished,  there 
grew  pink-tipped  daisies  and  kindred  flowers  of  the  wild. 
It  was  gutted  in  the  middle  with  a  ravine,  the  lower  end 
of  which,  dammed  by  an  earth  embankment,  formed  a 
lake  with  the  inevitable  swans  and  other  water-fowl. 
But,  barring  the  lake  and  a  wide  drive  that  looped  and 
twined  through  the  timber,  Granville  Park  was  a  bit 
of  the  old  Ontario  woodland,  and  as  such  afforded  a 


A   LADY    r>,ND    TWO    GENTLEMEN        5 

pleasant  place  to  loaf  in  the  summer  months.  It  was 
full  of  secluded  nooks,  dear  to  the  hearts  of  young 
couples.  And  upon  a  Sunday  the  carriages  of  the 
wealthy  affected  the  smooth  drive. 

When  Jack  Barrow  and  Hazel  had  finished  their 
lunch  under  the  trees,  in  company  with  a  little  group 
of  their  acquaintances,  Hazel  gathered  scraps  of  bread 
and  cake  into  a  paper  bag. 

Barrow  whispered  to  her :  "  Let's  go  down  and 
feed  the  swans.  I'd  just  as  soon  be  away  from  the 
crowd." 

She  nodded  assent,  and  they  departed  hastily  lest 
some  of  the  others  should  volunteer  their  company. 
It  took  but  a  short  time  to  reach  the  pond.  They 
found  a  log  close  to  the  water's  edge,  and,  taking  a  seat 
there,  tossed  morsels  to  the  birds  and  chattered  to  each 
other. 

"  Look,"  said  Barrow  suddenly ;  "  that's  us  ten  years 
from  now." 

A  carriage  passed  slowly,  a  solemn,  liveried  coach 
man  on  the  box,  a  handsome,  smooth-shaven  man  of 
thirty-five  and  a  richly  gowned  woman  leaning  back  and 
looking  out  over  the  pond  with  bored  eyes.  And  that 
last,  the  half-cynical,  half-contemptuous  expression  on 
the  two  faces,  impressed  Hazel  Weir  far  more  than  the 
showy  equipage,  the  outward  manifestation  of  wealth- 

"  I  hope  not,"  she  returned  impulsively. 

"  Hope  not !  "  Barrow  echoed.  "  Those  people  are 
worth  a  barrel  of  money.  Wouldn't  you  like  your  own 
carriage,  and  servants,  and  income  enough  to  have 
everything  you  wanted?  " 


5  NORTH   OF   FIFTY-THREE 

"  Of  course,"  Hazel  answered.  **  But  they  don't 
look  as  if  they  really  enjoyed  it." 

"  Fiddlesticks !  "  Barrow  smilingly  retorted.  "  Ev 
erybody  enjoys  luxury." 

"  Well,  one  should,"  Hazel  admitted.  But  she  still 
held  to  the  impression  that  the  couple  passing  got  no 
such  pleasure  out  of  their  material  possessions  as  Jack 
geemed  to  think.  It  was  merely  an  intuitive  divination. 
She  could  not  have  found  any  basis  from  which  to 
argue  the  point.  But  she  was  very  sure  that  she  wouLS 
not  have  changed  places  with  the  woman  in  the  car 
riage,  and  her  hand  stole  out  and  gave  his  a  shy  little 
squeeze. 

**  Look,"  she  murmured ;  "  here's  another  of  the  plut 
ocrats.  One  of  my  esteemed  employers,  if  you  please. 
You'll  notice  that  he's  walking  and  looking  at  things 
just  like  us  ordinary,  everyday  mortals." 

Barrow  glanced  past  her,  and  saw  a  rather  tall,  mid 
dle-aged  man,  his  hair  tinged  with  gray,  a  fine-looking 
man,  dressed  with  exceeding  nicety,  even  to  a  flower 
in  his  coat  lapel,  walking  slowly  along  the  path  that 
bordered  the  pond.  He  stopped  a  few  ya*rds  beyond 
them,  and  stood  idly  glancing  over  the  smooth  stretch 
of  water,  his  gloved  hands  resting  on  the  knob  of  a 
silver-mounted  cane. 

Presently  his  gaze  wandered  to  them,  and  the  cool, 
well-bred  stare  gradually  gave  way  to  a  slightly  puz 
zled  expression.  He  moved  a  step  or  two  and  seated 
himself  on  a  bench.  Miss  Weir  became  aware  that  he 
was  looking  at  her  most  of  the  time  as  she  sat  casting 
the  bits  of  bread  to  the  swans  and  ducks.  It 


A    LADY    AND    TWO    GENTLEMEN         7 

her  self-conscious.  She  did  not  know  why  she  should 
be  of  any  particular  interest. 

"  Let's  wait  around  a  little,"  she  suggested.  The 
last  of  the  crumbs  were  gone. 

"  All  right,"  Barrow  assented.  "  Let's  go  up  the 
ravine." 

They  left  the  log.  Their  course  up  the  ravine  took 
them  directly  past  the  gentleman  on  the  bench.  And 
when  they  came  abreast  of  him,  he  rose  and  lifted  his 
hat  at  the  very  slight  inclination  of  Miss  Weir's  headt 

"  How  do  you  do,  Miss  Weir?  "  said  he.  "  Quite 
a  pleasant  afternoon." 

To  the  best  of  Hazel's  knowledge,  Mr.  Andrew  Bush 
was  little  given  to  friendly  recognition  of  his  em 
ployees,  particularly  in  public.  But  he  seemed  in 
clined  to  be  talkative;  and,  as  she  caught  a  slightly  in 
quiring  glance  at  her  escort,  she  made  the  necessary 
introduction.  So  for  a  minute  or  two  the  three  of 
them  stood  there  exchanging  polite  banalities.  Then 
Mr.  Bush  bowed  and  passed  on. 

"  He's  one  of  the  biggest  guns  in  Granville,  they 
say,"  Jack  observed.  "  I  wouldn't  mind  having  some 
of  his  business  to  handle.  He  started  with  nothing, 
too,  according  to  all  accounts.  Now,  that's  what  I 
call  success." 

<£  Oh,  yes,  in  a  business  way  he's  a  success/'  Hazel 
responded.  "  But  he's  uwfully  curt  most  of  the  time 
around  the  office.  I  wonder  what  made  him  thaw  out 
so  to-day?  " 

And  that  question  recurred  to  her  mind  again  in  the 
evening,  when  Jack  had  gone  home  and  she  was  sitting 


8  NORTH   OF   FIFTY-THREE 

in  her  own  room.  She  wheeled  her  chair  around  and  tools 
a  steady  look  at  herself  in  the  mirror.  A  woman  may 
never  admit  extreme  plainness  of  feature,  and  she  may 
deprecate  her  own  fairness,  if  she  be  possessed  of  fair 
ness,  but  she  seldom  has  any  illusions  about  one  or  the 
other.  She  knows.  Hazel  Weir  knew  that  she  was 
far  above  the  average  in  point  of  looks.  If  she  had 
never  taken  stock  of  herself  before,  the  reflection  fac 
ing  her  now  was  sufficient  to  leave  no  room  for  doubt 
on  the  score  of  beauty.  Her  skin  was  smooth,  delicate 
in  texture,  and  as  delicately  tinted.  The  tan  pongee 
dress  she  wore  set  off  her  dark  hair  and  expressive, 
bluish-gray  eyes. 

She  was  smiling  at  herself  just  as  she  had  been  smil 
ing  at  Jack  Barrow  while  they  sat  on  the  log  and  fed 
the  swans.  And  she  made  an  amiable  grin  at  the  re 
flection  in  the  glass.  But  even  though  Miss  Weir  was 
twenty-two  and  far  from  unsophisticated,  it  did  not 
strike  her  that  the  transition  of  herself  from  a  demure, 
business-like  office  person  in  sober  black  and  white  to 
a  radiant  creature  with  the  potent  influences  of  lov« 
and  spring  brightening  her  eyes  and  lending  a  veiled 
caress  to  her  every  supple  movement,  satisfactorily 
accounted  for  the  sudden  friendliness  of  Mr.  Andrew 
Bush. 


CHAPTER  II 

HEAB.T,    HAND AND    POCKETBOOK 

Miss  Weir  was  unprepared  for  what  subsequently 
transpired  as  a  result  of  that  casual  encounter  with 
the  managing  partner  of  the  firm.  By  the  time  she 
went  to  work  on  Monday  morning  she  had  almost  for 
gotten  the  meeting  in  Granville  Park.  And  she  was 
only  reminded  of  it  when,  at  nine  o'clock,  Mr.  Andrew 
Bush  walked  through  the  office,  greeting  the  force  with 
his  usual  curt  nod  and  inclusive  "  good  morning  "  be 
fore  he  disappeared  behind  the  ground-glass  door 
lettered  "  Private."  With  the  weekday  he  had  ap 
parently  resumed  his  business  manner. 

Hazel's  work  consisted  largely  of  dictation  from  the 
shipping  manager,  letters  relating  to  outgoing  consign 
ments  of  implements.  She  was  rapid  and  efficient,  and, 
having  reached  the  zenith  of  salary  paid  for  such  work, 
she  expected  to  continue  in  the  same  routine  until  she 
left  Harrington  &  Bush  for  good. 

It  was,  therefore,  something  of  a  surprise  to  be 
called  into  the  office  of  the  managing  partner  on  Tues 
day  afternoon.  Bush's  private  stenographer  sat  at 
her  machine  in  one  corner. 

Mr.  Bush  turned  from  his  desk  at  Hazel's  entrance. 

"  Miss  Weir,"  he  said,  "  I  wish  you  to  take  some 
letters." 


io  NORTH   OF   FIFTY-THREE 

Hazel  went  back  for  her  notebook,  wondering  mildly 
why  she  should  be  called  upon  to  shoulder  a  part  of 
Nelly  Morrison's  work,  and  a  trifle  dubious  at  the  pros 
pect  of  facing  the  rapid-fire  dictation  Mr.  Bush  was 
said  to  inflict  upon  his  stenographer  now  and  then. 
She  had  the  confidence  of  long  practice,  however,  and 
knew  that  she  was  equal  to  anything  in  reason  that  he 
might  give  her. 

When  she  was  seated,  Bush  took  up  a  sheaf  of  letters, 
and  dictated  replies.  Though  rapid,  his  enunciation 
was  perfectly  clear,  and  Hazel  found  herself  getting  his 
words  with  greater  ease  than  she  had  expected. 

"  That's  all,  Miss  Weir,"  he  said,  when  he  reached 
the  last  letter.  "  Bring  those  in  for  verification  and 
signature  as  soon  as  you  can  get  them  done." 

In  the  course  of  time  she  completed  the  letters  and 
took  them  back.  Bush  glanced  over  each,  and  ap 
pended  his  signature. 

"  That's  all,  Miss  Weir,"  he  said  politely.  "  Thank 
you." 

And  Hazel  went  back  to  her  machine,  wondering  why 
she  had  been  requested  to  do  those  letters  when  Nelly 
Morrison  had  nothing  better  to  do  than  sit  picking  at 
her  type  faces  with  a  toothpick. 

She  learned  the  significance  of  it  the  next  morning, 
however,  when  the  office  boy  told  her  that  she  was 
wanted  by  Mr.  Bush.  This  time  when  she  entered 
Nelly  Morrison's  place  was  vacant.  Bush  was  going 
through  his  mail.  He  waved  her  to  a  chair. 

"  Just  a  minute,"  he  said. 

Presently  he  wheeled  from  the  desk   and   regarded 


HEART,    HAND,   POCKETBOOK        n 

her  with  disconcerting  frankness  —  as  if  he  were  ap 
praising  her,  point  by  point,  so  to  speak. 

"  My  —  ah  —  dictation  to  you  yesterday  was  in  the 
nature  of  a  try-out,  Miss  Weir,"  he  finally  volunteered. 
**  Miss  Morrison  has  asked  to  be  transferred  to  our 
Midland  branch.  Mr.  Allan  recommended  you.  You 
are  a  native  of  Granville,  I  understand?" 

"  Yes,"  Hazel  answered,  wondering  what  that  had  to 
do  with  the  position  Nelly  Morrison  had  vacated. 

"  In  that  case  you  will  not  likely  be  desirous  of 
leaving  suddenly,"  he  went  on.  "  The  work  will  not 
be  hard,  but  I  must  have  some  one  dependable  and  dis 
creet,  and  careful  to  avoid  errors.  I  think  you  will 
manage  it  very  nicely  if  you  —  ah  —  have  no  objec 
tion  to  giving  up  the  more  general  work  of  the  office 
for  this.  The  salary  will  be  considerably  more." 

"  If  you  consider  that  my  work  will  be  satisfactory," 
Miss  Weir  began. 

"  I  don't  think  there's  any  doubt  on  that  score.  You 
have  a  good  record  in  the  office,"  he  interrupted  smil 
ingly,  and  Hazel  observed  that  he  could  be  a  very 
agreeable  and  pleasant-speaking  gentleman  when  he 
chose  —  a  manner  not  altogether  in  keeping  with  her 
former  knowledge  of  him  —  and  she  had  been  with  the 
firm  nearly  two  years.  "  Now,  let  us  get  to  work  and 
clean  up  this  correspondence." 

Thus  her  new  duties  began.  There  was  an  air  of 
quiet  in  the  private  office,  a  greater  luxury  of  appoint 
ment,  which  suited  Miss  Hazel  Weir  to  a  nicety.  The 
work  was  no  more  difficult  than  she  had  been  accustomed 
to  doing  —  a  trifle  less  in  volume,  and  more  exacting 


12  NORTH    OF    FIFTY-THREE 

in  attention  to  detail,  and  necessarily  more  confidential, 
for  Mr.  Andrew  Bush  had  his  finger-tips  on  the  pulsing 
heart  of  a  big  business. 

Hazel  met  Nelly  Morrison  the  next  day  while  on  her 
way  home  to  lunch. 

"  Well,  how  goes  the  new  job?  "  quoth  Miss  Mor 
rison. 

"  All  right  so  far,"  Hazel  smiled.  "  Mr.  Bush  said 
you  were  going  to  Midland." 

"  Leaving  for  there  in  the  morning,"  said  Nelly. 
'*  I've  been  wanting  to  go  for  a  month,  but  Mr.  Bush 
objected  to  breaking  in  a  new  girl  —  until  just  the 
other  day.  I'm  sort  of  sorry  to  go,  too,  and  I  don't 
suppose  I'll  have  nearly  so  good  a  place.  For  one 
thing,  I'll  not  get  so  much  salary  as  I  had  with  Mr. 
Bush.  But  mamma's  living  in  Midland,  and  two  of 
my  brothers  work  there.  I'd  much  rather  live  at  home 
than  room  and  live  in  a  trunk.  I  can  have  a  better  time 
even  on  less  a  week." 

"  Well,  I  hope  you  get  along  nicely,"  Hazel  pro- 
offered. 

"  Oh,  I  will.  Leave  that  to  me,"  Miss  Morrison 
laughed.  "  By  the  way,  what  do  you  think  of  Mr. 
Bush,  anyway?  But  of  course  you  haven't  had  much 
to  do  with  him  yet.  You'll  find  him  awfully  nice  and 
polite,  but,  my,  he  can  be  cutting  when  he  gets  irri 
tated  !  I've  known  him  to  do  some  awfully  mean  things 
in  a  business  way.  I  wouldn't  want  to  get  him  down 
on  me.  I  think  he'd  hold  a  grudge  forever." 

They  walked  together  until  Hazel  turned  into  the 
street  which  led  to  her  boarding  place.  Nelly  MOJ> 


HEART,    HAND,    POCKETBOOK        13 

rison  chattered  principally  of  Mr.  Bush.  No  matter 
what  subject  she  opened  up,  she  came  back  to  discus 
sion  of  her  employer.  Hazed  gathered  that  she  had 
found  him  rather  exacting,  and  also  that  she  was  in 
clined  to  resent  his  curt  manner.  Withal,  Hazel  knew 
Nelly  Morrison  to  be  a  first-class  stenographer,  and 
found  herself  wondering  how  long  it  would  take  the 
managing  partner  to  find  occasion  for  raking  her  over 
the  coals. 

As  the  days  passed,  she  began  to  wonder  whether 
Miss  Morrison  had  been  quite  correct  in  her  summing 
up  of  Mr.  Andrew  Bush.  She  was  not  a  great  deal 
in  his  company,  for  unless  attending  to  the  details  of 
business  Mr.  Bush  kept  himself  in  a  smaller  office  open 
ing  out  of  the  one  where  she  worked.  Occasionally 
the  odor  of  cigar  smoke  escaped  therefrom,  and  in  that 
inner  sanctum  he  received  his  most  important  callers. 
Whenever  he  was  in  Miss  Weir's  presence,  however,  he 
manifested  none  of  the  disagreeable  characteristics  that 
Nelly  Morrison  had  ascribed  to  him. 

The  size  of  the  check  which  Hazel  received  in  her 
weekly  envelope  was  increased  far  beyond  her  expec 
tations.  Nelly  Morrison  had  drawn  twenty  dollars  a 
week.  Miss  Hazel  Weir  drew  twenty-five  —  a  sub 
stantial  increase  over  what  she  had  received  in  the  ship 
ping  department.  And  while  she  wondered  a  trifle  at 
the  voluntary  raising  of  her  salary,  it  served  to  make 
her  anxious  to  competently  fill  the  new  position,  so 
long  as  she  worked  for  wages.  With  that  extra  money 
there  were  plenty  of  little  things  she  could  get  for  the 
she  and  Jack  Barrow  had  planned. 


I4  NORTH    OF   FIFTY-THREE 

Things  n?oved  along  in  routine  channels  for  two 
months  or  more  before  Hazel  became  actively  aware 
that  a  subtle  change  was  growing  manifest  in  the  or 
dinary  manner  of  Mr.  Andrew  Bush.  She  shrugged 
her  shoulders  at  the  idea  at  first.  But  she  was  a 
woman;  moreover,  a  woman  of  intelligence,  her  per 
ceptive  faculties  naturally  keen. 

The  first  symptom  was  flowers,  dainty  bouquets  of 
which  began  to  appear  on  his  desk.  Coincident  with 
this,  Mr.  Bush  evinced  an  inclination  to  drift  into  talk 
on  subjects  nowise  related  to  business.  Hazel  ac 
cepted  the  tribute  to  her  sex  reluctantly,  giving  him 
no  encouragement  to  overstep  the  normal  bounds  of 
cordiality.  She  was  absolutely  sure  of  herself  and 
of  her  love  for  Jack  Barrow.  Furthermore,  Mr.  An 
drew  Bush,  though  well  preserved,  was  drawing  close 
to  fifty  —  and  she  was  twenty-two.  That  in  itself  re 
assured  her.  If  he  had  been  thirty,  Miss  Weir  might 
have  felt  herself  upon  dubious  ground.  He  admired 
her  as  a  woman.  She  began  to  realize  that.  And  no 
woman  ever  blames  a  man  for  paying  her  that  compli 
ment,  no  matter  what  she  may  say  to  the  contrary. 
Particularly  when  he  does  not  seek  to  annoy  her  by 
his  admiration. 

So  long  as  Mr.  Bush  confined  himself  to  affable  con 
versation,  to  sundry  gifts  of  hothouse  flowers,  and 
only  allowed  his  feelings  outlet  in  certain  telltale 
glances  when  he  thought  she  could  not  see,  Hazel  felt 
disinclined  to  fly  from  what  was  at  worst  a  possibility. 

Thus  the  third  month  of  her  tenure  drifted  by,  and 
beyond  the  telltale  glances  aforesaid,  Mr.  Bush  re- 


HEART,    HAND,   POCKETBOOK        15 

mained  tentatively  friendly  and  nothing  more.  Hazel 
spent  her  Sundays  as  she  had  spent  them  for  a  year 
past  —  with  Jack  Barrow ;  sometimes  rambling  afoot 
in  the  country  or  in  the  park,  sometimes  indulging  in 
the  luxury  of  a  hired  buggy  for  a  drive.  Usually  they 
went  alone;  occasionally  with  a  party  of  young  people 
like  themselves. 

But  Mr.  Bush  took  her  breath  away  at  a  time  and  in 
a  manner  totally  unexpected.  He  finished  dictating 
a  batch  of  letters  one  afternoon,  and  sat  tapping  on  his 
desk  with  a  pencil.  Hazel  waited  a  second  or  two,  ex 
pecting  him  to  continue,  her  eyes  on  her  notes,  and 
at  the  unbroken  silence  she  looked  up,  to  find  him  star 
ing  fixedly  at  her.  There  was  no  mistaking  the  ex 
pression  on  his  face.  Hazel  flushed  and  shrank  back 
involuntarily.  She  had  hoped  to  avoid  that.  It  could 
not  be  anything  but  unpleasant. 

She  had  small  chance  to  indulge  in  reflection,  for 
at  her  first  self-conscious  move  he  reached  swiftly  and 
caught  her  hand. 

"  Hazel,"  he  said  bluntly,  "  will  you  marry  me  ?  " 

Miss  Weir  gasped.  Coming  without  warning,  it 
dumfounded  her.  And  while  her  first  natural  impulse 
was  to  answer  a  blunt  "  No,"  she  was  flustered,  and  so 
took  refuge  behind  a  show  of  dignity. 

"  Mr.  Bush ! "  she  protested,  and  tried  to  release 
her  hand. 

But  Mr.  Bush  had  no  intention  of  allowing  her  to 
do  that. 

"  I'm  in  (deadly  earnest,"  he  said.  "  I've  loved  you 
ever  since  that  Sunday  I  saw  you  in  the  park  feeding 


i6  NORTH   OF   FIFTY-THREE 

the  swans.      I  want  you  to  be  my  wife.     Will  you  ?  * 

"  I'm  awfully  sorry,"  Hazel  stammered.  She  was 
just  the  least  bit  frightened.  The  man  who  stared  at 
her  with  burning  eyes  and  spoke  to  her  in  a  voice  that 
quivered  with  emotion  was  SO  different  from  the  calm5 
repressed  individual  she  had  known  as  her  employer. 

"  Why,  you're "  The  thing  that  was  uppermost 

in  her  mind,  and  what  ?he  came  near  saying,  was: 
"  You're  old  enough  to  be  my  father."  And  beside 
him  there  instantly  flash*?d  a  vision  of  Jack  Barrow. 
Of  course  it  was  absurd  ~~  even  though  she  appreciated 
the  honor.  But  she  did  not  finish  the  sentence  that 
way.  "  I  don't  —  oh,  it's  simply  impossible.  I 
couldn't  think  of  such  a  thing." 

"  Why  not  ?  "  he  asked.  "  I  love  you.  You  know 
that  —  you  can  see  it,  can't  you?  "  He  leaned  a  little 
nearer,  and  forced  her  to  meet  his  gaze.  "  I  can  make 
you  happy ;  I  can  make  you  love  me.  I  can  give  you 
all  that  a  woman  could  ask." 

"Yes,  but—" 

He  interrupted  her  quickly.  "  Perhaps  I've  sur 
prised  and  confused  you  by  my  impulsiveness,"  he  con 
tinued.  "  But  I've  had  no  chance  to  meet  you  se 
rially.  Sitting  here  in  the  office,  seeing  you  day  after 
day,  I've  had  to  hold  myself  in  check.  And  a  man 
only  does  that  so  long,  and  no  longer.  Perhaps  right 
now  you  don't  feel  as  I  do,  but  I  can  teach  you  to  feel 
that  way.  I  can  give  you  everything  —  money,  so 
cial  position,  everything^  that's  worth  having  —  and 
love.  I'm  not  an  empty-headed  boj.  I  can  make  you 
love  me." 


HEART,    HAND,    POCKETBOOK        17 

"  You  couldn't,"  Hazel  answered  flatly.  There  was 
a  note  of  dominance  in  that  last  statement  that  jarred 
on  her.  Mr.  Bush  was  too  sure  of  his  powers.  "  And 
I  have  no  desire  to  experiment  with  my  feelings  as  you 
suggest  —  not  for  all  the  wealth  and  social  position  in 
the  world.  I  would  have  to  love  a  man  to  think  of 
marrying  him  —  and  I  do.  But  you  aren't  the  man. ' 
I  appreciate  the  compliment  of  your  offer,  and  I'm 
sorry  to  hurt  you,  but  I  can't  marry  you." 

He  released  her  hand.  Miss  Weir  found  herself  sud 
denly  shaky.  Not  that  she  was  afraid,  or  had  any 
cause  for  fear,  but  the  nervous  tension  somehow  re 
laxed  when  she  finished  speaking  so  frankly. 

His  face  clouded.     "  You  are  engaged  ?  " 

«  Yes." 

He  got  up  and  stood  over  her.  "  To  some  self- 
centered  cub  —  some  puny  egotist  in  his  twenties, 
who'll  make  you  a  slave  to  his  needs  and  whims,  and 
discard  you  for  another  woman  when  you've  worn  out 
your  youth  and  beauty,"  he  cried.  "  But  you  won't 
marry  him.  I  won't  let  you !  " 

Miss  Weir  rose.  "  I  think  I  shall  go  home,"  she  said 
steadily. 

"  You  shall  do  nothing  of  the  sort !  There  is  no 
sense  in  your  running  away  from  me  and  giving  rise 
to  gossip  —  which  will  hurt  yourself  only." 

"  I  am  not  running  away,  but  I  can't  stay  here  and 
listen  to  such  things  from  you.  It's  impossible,  under 
the  circumstances,  for  me  to  continue  working  here,  so 
J  may  as  well  go  now." 

Bush  stepped  past  her  and  snapped  the  latch  on  th* 


i8  NORTH    OF   FIFTY-THREE 

office  door.  "  I  shan't  permit  it,"  he  said  passionately. 
*'  Girl,  you  don't  seem  to  realize  what  this  means  to 
me.  I  want  you  —  and  I'm  going  to  have  you !  " 

"  Please  don't  be  melodramatic,  Mr.  Bush." 

"  Melodramatic !  If  it  is  melodrama  for  a  man  to 
show  a  little  genuine  feeling,  I'm  guilty.  But  I  was 
never  more  in  earnest  in  my  life.  I  want  a  chance  to 
win  you.  I  value  you  above  any  woman  I  have  ever 
met.  Most  women  that — " 

"  Most  women  would  jump  at  the  chance,"  Hazel 
interrupted.  "  Well,  I'm  not  most  women.  I  don't 
consider  myself  as  a  marketable  commodity,  nor  my 
looks  as  an  aid  to  driving  a  good  bargain  in  a  matri 
monial  way.  I  simply  don't  care  for  you  as  you  would 
want  me  to  —  and  I'm  very  sure  I  never  would.  And, 
seeing  that  you  do  feel  that  way,  it's  better  that  we 
shouldn't  be  thrown  together  as  we  are  here.  That's 
why  I'm  going." 

"  That  is  to  say,  you'll  resign  because  I've  told  you 
I  care  for  you  and  proposed  marriage?  "  he  remarked. 

"  Exactly.  It's  the  only  thing  to  do  under  the  cir 
cumstances." 

"  Give  me  a  chance  to  show  you  that  I  can  make  you 
happy,"  he  pleaded.  "  Don't  leave.  Stay  here  where 
I  can  at  least  see  you  and  speak  to  you.  I  won't  an 
noy  you.  And  you  can't  tell.  After  you  get  over  this 
surprise  you  might  find  yourself  liking  me  better." 

"  That's  just  the  trouble,"  Hazel  pointed  out.  "If 
I  were  here  you  would  be  bringing  this  subject  up  in 
spite  of  yourself.  And  that  can  only  cause  pain.  I 
can't  stay." 


HEART,    HAND,    POCKETBOOK        ^ 

"  I  think  you  had  better  reconsider  that,"  he  said ; 
and  a  peculiar  —  an  ugly  —  light  crept  into  his  eyes, 
"  unless  you  desire  to  lay  yourself  open  to  being  the 
most-talked-of  young  woman  in  this  town,  where  you 
were  born,  where  all  your  friends  live.  Many  disagree 
able  things  might  result." 

"  That  sounds  like  a  threat,  Mr.  Bush.  What  do 
you  mean?  " 

"  I  mean  just  what  I  say.  I  will  admit  that  mine  is, 
perhaps,  a  selfish  passion.  If  you  insist  on  making  me 
suffer,  I  shall  do  as  much  for  you.  I  believe  in  pay 
ing  all  debts  in  full,  even  with  high  interest.  There  are 
two  characteristics  of  mine  which  may  not  have  come 
to  your  attention:  I  never  stop  struggling  for  what 
I  want.  And  I  never  forgive  or  forget  an  injury  or 
an  insult." 

"  Well?  "  Hazel  was  beginning  to  see  a  side  of  Mr. 
Andrew  Bush  hitherto  unsuspected. 

"  Well?  "  he  repeated.  "  If  you  drive  me  to  it,  you 
will  find  yourself  drawing  the  finger  of  gossip.  Also, 
you  will  find  yourself  unable  to  secure  a  position  in 
Granville.  Also,  you  may  find  yourself  losing  the  — 
er  —  regard  of  this  —  ah  —  fortunate  individual  upon 
whom  you  have  bestowed  your  affections;  but  you'll 
never  lose  mine,"  he  burst  out  wildly.  "  When  you  get 
done  butting  your  head  against  the  wall  that  will 
mysteriously  rise  in  your  way,  I'll  be  waiting  for  you. 
That's  how  I  love.  I've  never  failed  in  anything  I 
ever  undertook,  and  I  don't  care  how  I  fight,  fair  or 
foul,  so  that  I  win." 

*'  This  isn't  the  fifteenth  century,"  Hazel  let  her  in- 


so  NORTH    OF    FIFTY-THREE 

dignation  flare,  "  and  I'm  not  at  all  afraid  of  any  of  the 
things  you  mention.  Even  if  you  could  possibly  bring 
these  things  about,  it  would  only  make  me  despise  you, 
which  I'm  in  a  fair  way  to  do  now.  Even  if  I  weren't 
engaged,  I'd  never  think  of  marrying  a  man  old  enough 
to  be  my  father  —  a  man  whose  years  haven't  given  him 
a  sense  of  either  dignity  or  decency.  Wealth  and  so 
cial  position  don't  modify  gray  hairs  and  advancing 
age.  Your  threats  are  an  insult.  This  isn't  the  stone 
age.  Even  if  it  were,"  she  concluded  cuttingly, 
"  you'd  stand  a  poor  chance  of  winning  a  woman  against 
a  man  like  —  well — "  She  shrugged  her  shoulders, 
but  she  was  thinking  of  Jack  Barrow's  broad  shoulders, 
and  the  easy  way  he  went  up  a  flight  of  stairs,  three 
steps  at  a  time.  "  Well,  any  young  man." 

With  that  thrust,  Miss  Hazel  Weir  turned  to  the 
rack  where  hung  her  hat  and  coat.  She  was  thoroughly 
angry,  and  her  employment  in  that  office  ended  then 
and  there  so  far  as  she  was  concerned. 

Bush  caught  her  by  the  shoulders  before  she  took  a 
second  step. 

"  Gray  hairs  and  advancing  age ! "  he  said.  "  So 
I  strike  you  as  approaching  senility,  do  I?  I'll  show 
you  whether  I'm  the  worn-out  specimen  you  seem  to 
think  I  am.  Do  you  think  I'll  give  you  up  just  be 
cause  I've  made  you  angry?  Why,  I  love  you  the  more 
for  it;  it  only  makes  me  the  more  determined  to  win 
you." 

"  You  can't.  I  dislike  you  more  every  second. 
Take  your  hands  off  me,  please.  Be  a  gentleman  — 
if  you  can." 


HEART,    HAND,    POCKETBOOK        21 

For  answer  he  caught  her  up  close  to  him,  and  there 
was  no  sign  of  decadent  force  in  the  grip  of  his  arms. 
He  kissed  her ;  and  Hazel,  in  blind  rage,  freed  one  arm, 
and  struck  at  him  man  fashion,  her  hand  doubled  into 
a  small  fist.  By  the  grace  of  chance,  the  blow  landed 
on  his  nose.  There  was  force  enough  behind  it  to  draw 
blood.  He  stood  back  and  fumbled  for  his  handker 
chief.  Something  that  sounded  like  an  oath  escaped 
him. 

Hazel  stared,  aghast,  astounded.  She  was  not  at  all 
sorry;  she  was  perhaps  a  trifle  ashamed.  It  seemed 
unwomanly  to  strike.  But  the  humor  of  the  thing  ap 
pealed  to  her  most  strongly  of  all.  In  spite  of  her 
self,  she  smiled  as  she  reached  once  more  for  her  hat. 
And  this  time  Mr.  Bush  did  not  attempt  to  restrain 
her. 

She  breathed  a  sigh  of  relief  when  she  had  gained 
the  street,  and  she  did  not  in  the  least  care  if  her  de 
parture  during  business  hours  excited  any  curosity  in 
the  main  office.  Moreover,  she  was  doubly  glad  to 
be  away  from  Bush.  The  expression  on  his  face  as  he 
drew  back  and  stanched  his  bleeding  nose  had  momen 
tarily  chilled  her. 

"  He  looked  perfectly  devilish,"  she  told  herself. 
"  My,  I  loathe  that  man !  He  is  dangerous.  Marry 
him?  The  idea!" 

She  knew  that  she  must  have  cut  him  deeply  in  a 
man's  tenderest  spot  —  his  self-esteem.  But  just  how 
well  she  had  gauged  the  look  and  possibilities  of  Mr. 
Andrew  Bush,  Hazel  scarcely  realized. 

"  I  won't  tell  Jack,"  she  reflected.     "  He'd  probably 


22  NORTH    OF    FIFTY-THREE 

want  to  thrash  him.  And  that  would  stir  up  a  lot  of 
horrid  talk.  Dear  me,  that's  one  experience  I  don't  want 
repeated.  I  wonder  if  he  made  court  to  his  first  wife 
in  that  high-handed,  love-me-or-I'll-beat-you-to-death 
fashion  ?  " 

She  laughed  when  she  caught  herself  scrubbing  vig 
orously  with  her  handkerchief  at  the  place  where  his 
lips  had  touched  her  cheek.  She  was  primitive  enough 
in  her  instincts  to  feel  a  trifle  glad  of  having  retaliated 
in  what  her  training  compelled  her  to  consider  a  "  per 
fectly  hoydenish "  manner.  But  she  could  not  deay 
that  it  had  proved  wonderfully  effective. 


CHAPTER  III 

"  I    DO    GIVE    AND    BEQUEATH  " 

When  Jack  Barrow  called  again,  which  happened 
to  be  that  very  evening,  Hazel  told  him  simply  that  she 
had  left  Harrington  &  Bush,  without  entering  into  any 
explanation  except  the  general  one  that  she  had  found 
it  impossible  to  get  on  with  Mr.  Bush  in  her  new  posi 
tion.  And  Jack,  being  more  concerned  with  her  than 
with  her  work,  gave  the  matter  scant  consideration. 

This  was  on  a  Friday.  The  next  forenoon  Hazel 
went  downtown.  When  she  returned,  a  little  before 
eleven,  the  maid  of  all  work  was  putting  the  last  touches 
to  her  room.  The  girl  pointed  to  an  oblong  package 
on  a  chair. 

"  That  came  for  you  a  little  while  ago,  Miss  Weir," 
she  said.  "  Mr.  Bush's  carriage  brought  it." 

"  Mr.  Bush's  carriage !  "  Hazel  echoed. 

"  Yes'm.  Regular  swell  turnout,  with  a  footman  in 
brown  livery.  My,  you  could  see  the  girls  peeking  all 
along  the  square  when  it  stopped  at  our  door.  It 
quite  flustered  the  missus." 

The  girl  lingered  a  second,  curiosity  writ  large  on 
her  countenance.  Plainly  she  wished  to  discover  what 
Miss  Hazel  Weir  would  be  getting  in  a  package  that 
was  delivered  in  so  aristocratic  a  manner.  But  Hazel 


24  NORTH    OF   FIFTY-THREE 

was  in  no  mood  to  gratify  any  one's  curiosity.  She 
was  angry  at  the  presumption  of  Mr.  Andrew  Bush.  It 
was  an  excellent  way  of  subjecting  her  to  remark.  And 
it  did  not  soothe  her  to  recollect  that  he  had  threatened 
that  very  thing. 

She  drew  off  her  gloves,  and,  laying  aside  her  hat, 
picked  up  a  newspaper,  and  began  to  read.  The  girl, 
with  no  excuse  for  lingering,  reluctantly  gathered  up 
her  broom  and  dustpan,  and  departed.  When  she  was 
gone,  and  not  till  then,  Miss  Weir  investigated  the 
parcel. 

Roses  —  two  dozen  long-stemmed  La  Frances  — 
filled  the  room  with  their  delicate  odor  when  she  re 
moved  the  pasteboard  cover.  And  set  edgewise  among 
the  stems  she  found  his  card.  Miss  Weir  turned  up  her 
nmall  nose. 

"  I  wonder  if  he  sends  these  as  a  sort  of  peace  offer- 
Mig?  "  she  snorted.  "  I  wonder  if  a  few  hours  of  re 
flection  has  made  him  realize  just  how  exceedingly 
caddish  he  acted?  Well,  Mr.  Bush,  I'll  return 
your  unwelcome  gift  —  though  they  are  beautiful 
flowers." 

And  she  did  forthwith,  squandering  forty  cents  on  a 
messenger  boy  to  deliver  them  to  Mr.  Bush  at  his  of 
fice.  She  wished  him  to  labor  under  no  misappre1 
hension  as  to  her  attitude. 

The  next  day  —  Sunday  —  she  spent  with  Jack  Bar 
row  on  a  visit  to  his  cousin  in  a  near-by  town.  They 
parted,  as  was  their  custom,  at  the  door.  It  was  still 
early  in  the  evening  —  eight-thirty,  or  thereabout  — 
and  Hazel  went  into  the  parlor  on  the  first  floor.  Mrs. 


"I   DO    GIVE   AND   BEQUEATH"       25 

Stout  and  one  of  her  boarders  sat  there  chatting,  and 
at  Hazel's  entrance  the  landlady  greeted  her  with  a 
startling  bit  of  news: 

"  Evenin',  Miss  Weir.  'Ave  you  'eard  about  Mr. 
Bush,  pore  gentleman?  "  Mrs.  Stout  was  very  Eng 
lish. 

"Mr.  Bush?  No.  What  about  him?"  Hazel  re 
sented  Mr.  Bush,  his  name,  and  his  affairs  being  brought 
to  her  attention  at  every  turn.  She  desired  nothing 
so  much  since  that  scene  in  the  office  as  to  ignore  his 
existence. 

"  'E  was  'urt  shockin'  bad  this  awft'noon,"  Mrs. 
Stout  related.  "  Out  'orseback  ridin',  and  'is  'orse 
ran  away  with  'im,  and  fell  on  'im.  Fell  all  of  a  'eap, 
they  say.  Terrible  —  terrible!  The  pore  man  isn't 
expected  to  live.  'Is  back's  broke,  they  say.  W'at 
a  pity!  Shockin'  accident,  indeed." 

Miss  Weir  voiced  perfunctory  sympathy,  as  was 
expected  of  her,  seeing  that  she  was  an  employee  of  the 
firm  —  or  had  been  lately.  But  close  upon  that  she 
escaped  to  her  own  room.  She  did  not  relish  sitting 
there  discussing  Mr.  Andrew  Bush.  Hazel  lacked 
nothing  of  womanly  sympathy,  but  he  had  forfeited 
that  from  her. 

Nevertheless  she  kept  thinking  of  him  long  after  she 
went  to  bed.  She  was  not  at  all  vindictive,  and  his 
misfortune,  the  fact  —  if  the  report  were  true  —  that 
he  was  facing  his  end,  stirred  her  pity.  She  could  guess 
that  he  would  suffer  more  than  some  men;  he  would  re 
bel  bitterly  against  anything  savoring  of  extinction*' 
And  she  reflected  that  his  love  for  her  was  very  likely 


26  NORTH    OF   FIFTV-THREE 

gone  by  the  board  now  that  he  was  elected  to  go  the 
way  of  all  flesh. 

The  report  of  his  injury  was  verified  in  the  morning 
papers.  By  evening  it  had  pretty  well  passed  out  of 
Hazel's  mind.  She  had  more  pleasant  concerns. 
Jack  Barrow  dropped  in  about  six-thirty  to  ask  if  she 
wanted  to  go  with  him  to  a  concert  during  the  week. 
They  were  sitting  in  the  parlor,  by  a  front  window, 
chattering  to  each  other,  but  not  so  engrossed  that 
they  failed  to  notice  a  carriage  drawn  by  two  splendid 
grays  pull  up  at  the  front  gate.  The  footman,  in 
brown  livery,  got  down  and  came  to  the  door.  Hazel 
knew  the  carriage.  She  had  seen  Mr.  Andrew  Bush 
abroad  in  it  many  a  time.  She  wondered  if  there  was 
some  further  annoyance  in  store  for  her,  and  frowned 
at  the  prospect. 

She  heard  Mrs.  Stout  answer  the  bell  in  person. 
There  was  a  low  mumble  of  voices.  Then  the  land 
lady  appeared  in  the  parlor  doorway,  the  footman  be 
hind  her. 

"This  is  the  lady."  Mrs.  Stout  indicated  Hazel. 
**  A  message  for  you,  Miss  Weir." 

The  liveried  person  bowed  and  extended  an  envelope. 
"  I  was  instructed  to  deliver  this  to  you  personally,"  he 
said,  and  lingered  as  if  he  looked  for  further  instruc 
tions. 

Hazel  looked  at  the  envelope.  She  could  not  under 
stand  why,  under  the  circumstances,  any  message  should 
come  to  her  through  such  a  medium.  But  there  was 
her  name  inscribed.  She  glanced  up.  Mrs.  Stout 
gazed  past  the  footman  with  an  air  of  frank  anticipa- 


"I   DO    GIVE   AND    BEQUEATH"       27 

lion.  Jack  also  was  looking.  But  the  landlady  caught 
Hazel's  glance  and  backed  out  the  door,  and  Hazel 
opened  the  letter. 

The  note  was  brief  and  to  the  point: 

Miss  WEIR:     Mr.  Bush,  being  seriously  injured  and 
unable  to  write,  bids  me  say  that  he  is  very  anxious  to 
see  you.     He  sends  his  carriage  to  convey  you  here. 
His  physicians  fear  that  he  will  not  survive  the  night, ' 
hence  he  begs  of  you  to  come.     Very  truly, 

ETHEL  B.  WATSON,  Nurse  in  Waiting. 

"  The  idea !  Of  course  I  won't !  I  wouldn't  think 
of  such  a  thing ! "  Hazel  exclaimed. 

"  Just  a  second,"  she  said  to  the  footman. 

Over  on  the  parlor  mantel  lay  some  sheets  of  paper 
and  envelopes.  She  borrowed  a  pencil  from  Barrow 
and  scribbled  a  brief  refusal.  The  footman  departed 
with  her  answer.  Hazel  turned  to  find  Jack  staring 
his  puzzlement. 

"  What  did  he  want  ? "  Barrow  asked  bluntly. 
'*  That  was  the  Bush  turnout,  wasn't  it  ?  " 

"  You  heard  about  Mr.  Bush  getting  hurt,  didnt 
you?  "  she  inquired. 

"Saw  it  in  the  paper.     Why?" 

"  Nothing,  except  that  he  is  supposed  to  be  dying — • 
and  he  wanted  to  see  me.  At  least  —  well,  read  the 
note,"  Hazel  answered. 

Barrow  glanced  over  the  missive  and  frowned. 

"What  do  you  suppose  he  wanted  to  see  you  for?* 
he  asked. 

**  How  should  I  know  ?  "  Hazel  evaded. 


28  NORTH    OF   FIFTY-THREE 

She  felt  a  reluctance  to  enter  into  any  explanations. 
That  would  necessitate  telling  the  whole  story,  and  she 
felt  some  delicacy  about  relating  it  when  the  man  in 
volved  lay  near  to  death.  Furthermore,  Jack  might , 
misunderstand,  might  blame  her.  He  was  inclined  to 
jealousy  on  slight  grounds,  she  had  discovered  be 
fore  now.  Perhaps  that,  the  natural  desire  to  avoid 
anything  disagreeable  coming  up  between  them,  helped 
constrain  her  to  silence. 

"  Seems  funny,"  he  remarked  slowly. 

"  Oh,  let's  forget  it."  Hazel  came  and  sat  down  on 
the  couch  by  him.  "  I  don't  know  of  any  reason  why 
he  should  want  to  see  me.  I  wouldn't  go  merely  out  of 
curiosity  to  find  out.  It  was  certainly  a  peculiar  re 
quest  for  him  to  make.  But  that's  no  reason  why  we 
should  let  it  bother  us.  If  he's  really  so  badly  hurt, 
the  chances  are  he's  out  of  his  head.  Don't  scowl  at 
that  bit  of  paper  so,  Johnnie-boy." 

Barrow  laughed  and  kissed  her,  and  the  subject  was 
dropped  forthwith.  Later  they  went  out  for  a  short 
walk.  In  an  hour  or  so  Barrow  left  for  home,  prom 
ising  to  have  the  concert  tickets  for  Thursday  night. 

Hazel  took  the  note  out  of  her  belt  and  read  it  again 
when  she  reached  her  room.  Why  should  he  want  to 
see  her?  She  wondered  at  the  man's  persistence.  He 
had  insulted  her,  according  to  her  view  of  it  —  doubly 
insulted  her  with  threats  and  an  enforced  caress.  Per 
haps  he  merely  wanted  to  beg  her  pardon ;  she  had  heard 
of  men  doing  such  things  in  their  last  moments.  But 
she  could  not  conceive  of  Mr.  Andrew  Bush  being  sorry 
for  anything  he  did.  Her  estimate  of  him  was  that 


his  only  regret  would  be  over  failure  to  achieve  his 
own  ends.  He  struck  her  as  being  an  individual  whose 
own  personal  desires  were  paramount.  She  had  heard 
vague  stories  of  his  tenacity  of  purpose,  his  disregard 
of  anything  and  everybody  but  himself.  The  gossip 
she  had  heard  and  half  forgotten  had  been  recalled  and 
confirmed  by  her  own  recent  experience  with  him. 

Nevertheless,  she  considered  that  particular  episode 
closed.  She  believed  that  she  had  convinced  him  of  that. 
And  so  she  could  not  grasp  the  reason  for  that  eleventh- 
hour  summons.  But  she  could  see  that  a  repetition  of 
such  incidents  might  put  her  in  a  queer  light.  Other 
folk  might  begin  to  wonder  and  inquire  why  Mr.  Andrew 
•Bush  took  such  an  "  interest "  in  her  —  a  mere  ste 
nographer.  Well,  she  told  herself,  she  did  not  care  — 
so  long  as  Jack  Barrow's  ears  were  not  assailed  by 
talk.  She  smiled  at  that,  for  she  could  picture  the  re 
ception  any  scandal  peddler  would  get  from  him. 

The  next  day's  papers  contained  the  obituary  of  Mr. 
Andrew  Bush.  He  had  died  shortly  after  midnight. 
And  despite  the  fact  that  she  held  no  grudge,  Hazel 
felt  a  sense  of  relief.  He  was  powerless  to  annoy  or 
persecute  her,  and  she  could  not  escape  the  conviction 
that  he  would  have  attempted  both  had  he  lived. 

She  had  now  been  idle  a  matter  of  days.  Nearly 
three  months  were  yet  to  elapse  before  her  wedding. 
She  and  Barrow  had  compromised  on  that  after  a  deal 
of  discussion.  Manlike,  he  had  wished  to  be  married 
as  soon  as  she  accepted  him,  and  she  had  held  out  for 
a  date  that  would  permit  her  to  accumulate  a  trousseau 
according  to  her  means. 


30  NORTH   OF   FIFTY-THREE 

"  A  girl  only  gets  married  once,  Johnnie-boy,"  slie 
had  declared.  "  I  don't  want  to  get  married  so  —  so 
offhand,  like  going  out  and  buying  a  pair  of  gloves 
or  something.  Even  if  I  do  love  you  ever  so 
much." 

She  had  gained  her  point  after  a  lot  of  argument. 
There  had  been  no  thought  then  of  her  leaving  Har 
rington  &  Bush  so  abruptly.  Jack  had  wanted  to  get 
the  license  as  soon  as  he  learned  that  she  had  thrown 
up  her  job.  But  she  refused  to  reset  the  date.  They 
had  made  plans  for  October.  There  was  so  sense  in 
altering  those  plans. 

It  seemed  scarcely  worth  while  to  look  for  another 
position.  She  had  enough  money  saved  to  do  every 
thing  she  wanted  to  do.  It  was  not  so  much  lack  of 
money,  the  need  to  earn,  as  the  monotony  of  idleness 
that  irked  her.  She  had  acquired  the  habit  of  work, 
and  that  is  a  thing  not  lightly  shaken  off.  But  during 
that  day  she  gathered  together  the  different  Granville 
papers,  and  went  carefully  over  the  "  want  "  columns. 
Knowing  the  town  as  she  did,  she  was  enabled  to  elim 
inate  the  unlikely,  undesirable  places.  Thus  by  even 
ing  she  was  armed  with  a  list  of  firms  and  individuals 
requiring  a  stenographer.  And  in  the  morning  she 
sallied  forth. 

Her  quest  ended  with  the  first  place  she  sought.  The 
fact  of  two  years'  service  with  the  biggest  firm  in  Gran 
ville  was  ample  recommendation ;  in  addition  to  which 
the  office  manager,  it  developed  in  their  conversation, 
had  known  her  father  in  years  gone  by.  So  before  ten 
o'clock  Miss  Hazel  Weir  was  entered  on  the  pay-roll 


of  a  furniture-manufacturing  house.  It  was  not  a 
permanent  position ;  one  of  their  girls  had  been  taken 
ill  and  was  likely  to  take  up  her  duties  again  in  six 
weeks  or  two  months.  But  that  suited  Hazel  all  the 
better.  She  could  put  in  the  time  usefully,  and  have  a 
breathing  spell  before  her  wedding. 

At  noon  she  telephoned  Jack  Barrow  that  she  was 
at  work  again,  and  she  went  straight  from  lunch  to  the 
office  grind. 

Three  days  went  by.  Hazel  attended  the  concert 
with  Jack  the  evening  of  the  day  Mr.  Andrew  Bush 
received  ostentatious  burial.  At  ten  the  next  morn 
ing  the  telephone  girl  called  her. 

"  Some  one  wants  you  on  the  phone,  Miss  Weir,"  she 
said. 

Hazel   took  up   the   dangling   receiver. 

"  Hello ! " 

"  That  you,  Hazel?  » 

She  recognized  the  voice,  half  guessing  it  would  be 
he,  since  no  one  but  Jack  Barrow  would  be  likely  to 
ring  her  up. 

"  Surely.     Doesn't  it  sound  like  me  ?  " 

"  Have  you  seen  the  morning  papers  ?  " 

"  No.     What  — " 

"  Look  'em  over.     Particularly  the  Gazette.9' 

The  harsh  rattle  of  a  receiver  slammed  back  on  its 
hook  without  even  a  "  good-by  "  from  him  struck  her 
like  a  slap  in  the  face.  She  hung  up  slowly,  and  went 
back  to  her  work.  Never  since  their  first  meeting, 
and  they  had  not  been  exempt  from  lovers'  quarrels, 
had  Jack  Barrow  ever  spoken  to  her  like  that.  Even 


32  NORTH    OF    FIFTY-THREE 

through  the  telephone  the  resentful  note  in  his  voice 
grated  on  her  and  mystified  her. 

Something  in  the  papers  lay  at  the  bottom  of  it, 
but  she  could  comprehend  nothing,  absolutely  nothing, 
she  told  herself  hotly,  that  should  make  Jack  snarl  at 
her  like  that.  His  very  manner  of  conveying  the  mes 
sage  was  maddening,  put  her  up  in  arms. 

She  was  chained  to  her  work  —  which,  despite  her 
agitation,  she  managed  to  wade  through  without  any 
radical  errors  —  until  noon.  The  twelve-to-one  inter 
mission  gave  her  opportunity  to  hurry  up  the  street  and 
buy  a  Gazette.  Then,  instead  of  going  home  to  her 
luncheon,  she  entered  the  nearest  restaurant.  She 
wanted  a  chance  to  read,  more  than  food.  She  did  not 
unfold  the  paper  until  she  was  seated. 

A  column  heading  on  the  front  page  caught  her  eye. 
The  caption  ran :  "  Andrew  Bush  Leaves  Money  to 
Stenographer."  And  under  it  the  subhead: 
"  Wealthy  Manufacturer  Makes  Peculiar  Bequest  to 
Miss  Hazel  Weir." 

The  story  ran  a  full  column,  and  had  to  do  with  the 
contents  of  the  will,  made  public  following  his  inter 
ment.  There  was  a  great  deal  of  matter  anent  the 
principal  beneficiaries.  But  that  which  formed  the 
basis  of  the  heading  was  a  codicil  appended  to  the  will 
a  few  hours  before  his  death,  in  which  he  did  "  give 
and  bequeath  to  Hazel  Weir,  until  lately  in  my  employ, 
the  sum  of  five  thousand  dollars  in  reparation  for  any 
wrong  I  may  have  done  her." 

The  Gazette  had  copied  that  portion  verbatim,  and 
used  it  as  a  peg  upon  which  to  hang  some  adroitly 


"I    DO    GIVE   AND    BEQUEATH"       33 

worded  speculation  as  to  what  manner  of  wrong  Mr. 
Andrew  Bush  could  have  done  Miss  Hazel  Weir.  Mr. 
Bush  was  a  widower  of  ten  years'*  standing.  He  had 
no  children.  There  was  plenty  of  room  in  his  life 
for  romance.  And  wealthy  business  men  who  wrong 
pretty  stenographers  are  not  such  an  unfamiliar  type. 
The  Gazette  inclined  to  the  yellow  side  of  journalism, 
and  it  overlooked  nothing  that  promised  a  sensation. 

Hazel  stared  at  the  sheet,  and  her  face  burned.  She 
could  understand  now  why  Jack  Barrow  had  hung  up 
his  receiver  with  a  slam.  She  could  picture  him  reading 
that  suggestive  article  and  gritting  his  teeth.  Her  hands 
clenched  till  the  knuckles  stood  white  under  the  smooth 
skin,  and  then  quite  abruptly  she  got  up  and  left  the 
restaurant  even  while  a  waiter  hurried  to  take  her  order. 
If  she  had  been  a  man,  and  versed  in  profanity,  she 
could  have  cursed  Andrew  Bush  till  his  soul  shuddered 
on  its  journey  through  infinite  space.  Being  a  woman, 
she  wished  only  a  quiet  place  to  cry. 


CHAPTER  IV 

AN    EXPLANATION    DEMANDED 

Hazel's  pride  came  to  her  rescue  before  she  was  half 
way  home.  Instinctively  she  had  turned  to  that 
refuge,  where  she  could  lock  herself  in  her  own  room 
and  cry  her  protest  against  it  all.  But  she  had  done 
no  wrong,  nothing  of  which  to  be  ashamed,  and  when 
the  first  shock  of  the  news  article  wore  off,  she  threw 
up  her  head  and  refused  to  consider  what  the  world  at 
large  might  think.  So  she  went  back  to  the  office  at 
one  o'clock  and  took  up  her  work.  Long  before  even 
ing  she  sensed  that  others  had  read  the  Gazette.  Not 
that  any  one  mentioned  it,  but  sundry  curious  glances 
made  her  painfully  aware  of  the  fact. 

Mrs.  Stout  evidently  was  on  the  watch,  for  she  ap 
peared  in  the  hall  almost  as  the  front  door  closed  be 
hind  Hazel. 

"  How  de  do,  Miss  Weir?  "  she  greeted.  "  My,  but 
you  fell  into  quite  a  bit  of  a  fortune,  ain't  you  ?  " 

"  I  only  know  what  the  papers  say,"  Hazel  returned 
coldly. 

"  Just  fancy !  You  didn't  know  nothing  about  it  ?  " 
Mrs.  Stout  regarded  her  with  frank  curiosity. 
"  There's  been  two  or  three  gentlemen  from  the  papers 
'ere  to-day  awskin'  for  you.  Such  terrible  fellows  to 
quiz  one,  they  are.'* 


AN    EXPLANATION    DEMANDED      35 

"Well?"  Hazel  filled  in  the  pause. 

"Oh,  I  just  thought  I'd  tell  you,"  Mrs.  Stout  ob 
served,  "  that  they  got  precious  little  out  o'  me.  I 
ain't  the  talkin'  kind.  I  told  'em  nothink  whatever, 
you  may  be  sure." 

"  They're  perfectly  welcome  to  learn  all  that  can  be 
learned  about  me,"  Hazel  returned  quietly.  "  I  don't 
like  newspaper  notoriety,  but  I  can't  muzzle  the  papers* 
and  it's  easy  for  them  to  get  my  whole  history  if  they 
want  it." 

She  was  on  the  stairs  when  she  finished  speaking. 
She  had  just  reached  the  first  landing  when  she  heard 
the  telephone  bell,  and  a  second  or  two  later  the  land 
lady  called: 

"Oh,  Miss   Weir!     Telephone." 

Barrow's  voice  hailed  her  over  the  line. 

"I'll  be  out  by  seven,"  said  he.  "We  had  better 
take  a  walk.  We  can't  talk  in  the  parlor;  there'll 
probably  be  a  lot  of  old  tabbies  there  out  of  sheer 
curiosity." 

"  All  right,"  Hazel  agreed,  and  hung  up.  There 
were  one  or  two  questions  she  would  have  liked  to  ask, 
but  she  knew  that  eager  ears  were  close  by,  taking  in 
every  word.  Anyway,  it  was  better  to  wait  until  she 
saw  him. 

She  dressed  herself.  Unconsciously  the  truly  fem 
inine  asserted  its  dominance  —  the  woman  anxious  to 
please  and  propitiate  her  lover.  She  put  on  a  dainty 
summer  dress,  rearranged  her  hair,  powdered  away  all 
trace  of  the  tears  that  insisted  on  coming  as  soon  as 
she  reached  the  sanctuary  of  her  own  room.  And  then 


36  NORTH    OF   FIFTY-THREE 

she  watched  for  Jack  from  a  window  that  commanded 
the  street.  She  had  eaten  nothing  since  morning,  and 
the  dinner  bell  rang  unheeded.  It  did  not  occur  to 
her  that  she  was  hungry ;  her  brain  was  engrossed  witK 
other  matters  more  important  by  far  than  food. 

Barrow  appeared  at  last.  She  went  down  to  meet 
him  before  he  rang  the  bell.  Just  behind  him  came  a 
tall  man  in  a  gray  suit.  This  individual  turned  in  at 
the  gate,  bestowing  a  nod  upon  Barrow  and  a  keen 
glance  at  her  as  he  passed. 

"  That's  Grinell,  from  the  Times,"  Barrow  muttered 
sourly.  "  Come  on ;  let's  get  away  from  here.  I  sup 
pose  he's  after  you  for  an  interview.  Everybody  in 
Granville's  talking  about  that  legacy,  it  seems  to 
me." 

Hazel  turned  in  beside  him  silently.  Right  at  the 
start  she  found  herself  resenting  Barrow's  tone,  his 
manner.  She  had  done  nothing  to  warrant  suspicion 
from  him.  But  she  loved  him,  and  she  hoped  she  could 
convince  him  that  it  was  no  more  than  a  passing  un 
pleasantness,  for  which  she  was  nowise  to  blame. 

"  Hang  it ! "  Barrow  growled,  before  they  had  trav 
ersed  the  first  block.  "  Here  comes  Grinell !  I  sup 
pose  that  old  cat  of  a  landlady  pointed  us  out.  No 
dodging  him  now." 

"  There's  no  earthly  reason  why  I  should  dodge  him, 
as  you  put  it,"  Hazel  replied  stiffly.  "  I'm  not  an 
escaped  criminal." 

Barrow  shrugged  his  shoulders  in  a  way  that  made 
Hazel  bring  her  teeth  together  and  want  to  shake 
him. 


AN   EXPLANATION    DEMANDED       37 

Grinell  by  then  was  hurrying  up  with  long  strides. 
Hat  in  hand,  he  bowed  to  her.  "  Miss  Hazel  Weir, 
I  believe?"  he  interrogated. 

"  Yes,"  she  confirmed. 

"  I'm  on  the  Times,  Miss  Weir,"  Grinell  went 
straight  to  the  business  in  hand.  "  You  are  aware,  I 
presume,  that  Mr.  Andrew  Bush  willed  you  a  sum  of 
money  under  rather  peculiar  conditions  —  that  is,  the 
bequest  was  worded  in  a  peculiar  way.  Probably  you 
have  seen  a  reference  to  it  in  the  papers.  It  has  caused 
a  great  deal  of  interest.  The  Times  would  be  pleased 
to  have  a  statement  from  you  which  will  tend  to  set 
at  rest  the  curiosity  of  the  public.  Some  of  the  other 
papers  have  indulged  in  unpleasant  innuendo.  We 
would  be  pleased  to  publish  your  side  of  the  matter, 
It  would  be  an  excellent  way  for  you  to  quiet  the  nasty 
rumors  that  are  going  the  rounds." 

"  I  have  no  statement  to  make,"  Hazel  said  coolly. 
"  I  am  not  in  the  least  concerned  with  what  the  papers 
print  or  what  the  people  say.  I  absolutely  refuse  to 
discuss  the  matter." 

Grinell  continued  to  point  out  —  with  the  persist 
ence  and  persuasive  logic  of  a  good  newspaper  man 
bent  on  learning  what  his  paper  wants  to  know  —  the 
desirability  of  her  giving  forth  a  statement.  And  in 
the  midst  of  his  argument  Hazel  bade  him  a  curt  "  good 
evening  "  and  walked  on.  Barrow  kept  step  with  her. 
Grinell  gave  it  up  for  a  bad  job  evidently,  for  he 
turned  back. 

They  walked  five  blocks  without  a  word.  Hazel 
glanced  at  Barrow  now  and  then,  and  observed  with  an 


38  NORTH    OF   FIFTY-THREE 

uncomfortable  sinking  of  her  heart  that  he  was  sullen, 
openly  resentful,  suspicious. 

"  Johnnie-boy,"  she  said  suddenly,  "  don't  look  so 
cross.  Surely  you  don't  blame  me  because  Mr.  Bush 
wills  me  a  sum  of  money  in  a  way  that  makes  people 
wonder? " 

"  I  can't  understand  it  at  all,"  he  said  slowly.  "  It's 
very  peculiar  —  and  deucedly  unpleasant.  Why 
should  he  leave  you  money  at  all?  And  why  should  he 
word  the  will  as  he  did?  What  wrong  did  he  ever  do 
you?" 

"  None,"  Hazel  answered  shortly.  His  tone  wounded 
her,  cut  her  deep,  so  eloquent  was  it  of  distrust.  "  The 
only  wrong  he  has  done  me  lies  in  willing  me  that  money 
as  he  did." 

"  But  there's  an  explanation  for  that,"  Barrow  de 
clared  moodily.  "  There's  a  key  to  the  mystery,  and 
if  anybody  has  it  you  have.  What  is  it?  " 

"  Jack,"  Hazel  pleaded,  "  don't  take  that  tone  with 
me.  I  can't  stand  it  —  I  won't.  I'm  not  a  little  child 
to  be  scolded  and  browbeaten.  This  morning  when  you 
telephoned  you  were  almost  insulting,  and  it  hurt  me 
dreadfully.  You're  angry  now,  and  suspicious.  You 
seem  to  think  I  must  have  done  some  dreadful  thing. 
I  know  what  you're  thinking.  The  Gazette  hinted  at 
some  *  affair  9  between  me  and  Mr.  Bush ;  that  possibly 
that  was  a  sort  of  left-handed  reparation  for  ruining 
me.  If  that  didn't  make  me  angry,  it  would  amuse  me 
—  it's  so  absurd.  Haven't  you  any  faith  in  me  at  all  ? 
I  haven't  done  anything  to  be  ashamed  of.  I've  got 
nothing  to  conceal." 


AN   EXPLANATION    DEMANDED      33 

"  Don't  conceal  it,  then,"  Barrow  muttered  sulkily. 
"  I've  got  a  right  to  know  whatever  there  is  to  know  if 
I'm  going  to  marry  you.  You  don't  seem  to  have  any 
idea  what  this  sort  of  talk  that's  going  around  means 
to  a  man." 

Hazel  stopped  short  and  faced  him.  Her  heart 
pounded  sickeningly,  and  hurt  pride  and  rising  anger 
choked  her  for  an  instant.  But  she  managed  to  speak 
calmly,  perhaps  with  added  calmness  by  reason  of  the 
struggle  she  was  compelled  to  make  for  self-control. 

"  If  you  are  going  to  marry  me,"  she  repeated,  "  you 
have  got  a  right  to  know  all  there  is  to  know.  Have  I 
refused  to  explain?  I  haven't  had  much  chance  to 
explain  yet.  Have  I  refused  to  tell  you  anything? 
If  you  ever  thought  of  anybody  beside  yourself,  you 
might  be  asking  yourself  how  all  this  talk  would  affect 
a  girl  like  me.  And,  besides,  I  think  from  your  manner 
that  you've  already  condemned  me  —  for  what? 
Would  any  reasonable  explanation  make  an  impression 
on  you  in  your  present  frame  of  mind?  I  don't  want 
to  marry  you  if  you  can't  trust  me.  Why,  I  couldn't 
—  I  wouldn't  —  marry  you  any  time,  or  any  place, 
under  those  conditions,  no  matter  how  much  I  may  fool 
ishly  care  for  you." 

"  There's  just  one  thing,  Hazel,"  Barrow  persisted 
stubbornly.  "  There  must  have  been  something  be 
tween  you  and  Bush.  He  sent  flowers  to  you,  and  I 
myself  saw  when  he  was  hurt  he  sent  his  carriage  to 
bring  you  to  his  house.  And  then  he  leaves  you  this 
money.  There  was  something  between  you,  and  I  want 
to  know  what  it  was.  You're  not  helping  yourself  by 


40  NORTH    OF   FIFTY-THREE 

getting  on  your  dignity  and  talking  about  my  not  trust 
ing  you  instead  ef  explaining  these  things." 

"  A  short  time  ago,"  Hazel  told  him  quietly,  "  Mr. 
Bush  asked  me  to  marry  him.  I  refused,  of  course. 
He  — " 

"  You  refused ! "  Barrow  interrupted  cynically, 
"  Most  girls  would  have  jumped  at  the  chance." 

"  Jack !  "  she  protested. 

"  Well,"  Barrow  defended,  "  he  was  almost  a  mil 
lionaire,  and  I've  got  nothing  but  my  hands  and  my 
brain.  But  suppose  you  did  refuse  him.  How  does 
that  account  for  the  five  thousand  dollars?  " 

"  I  think,"  Hazel  flung  back  passionately,  "  I'll  let 
you  find  that  out  for  yourself.  You've  said  enough 
now  to  make  me  hate  you  almost.  Your  very  manner's 
an  insult." 

"  If  you  don't  like  my  manner  — "  Barrow  retorted 
stormily.  Then  he  cut  his  sentence  in  two,  and  glared 
at  her.  Her  eyes  glistened  with  slow-welling  tears,  and 
she  bit  nervously  at  her  under  lip.  Barrow  shrugged 
his  shoulders.  The  twin  devils  of  jealousy  and  dis 
trust  were  riding  him  hard,  and  it  flashed  over  Hazel 
that  in  his  mind  she  was  prejudged,  and  that  her  ex 
planation,  if  she  made  it,  would  only  add  fuel  to  the 
flame.  Moreover,  she  stood  in  open  rebellion  at  be 
ing,  so  to  speak,  put  on  the  rack. 

She  turned  abruptly  and  left  him.  What  did  it 
matter,  anyway?  She  was  too  proud  to  plead,  and  it 
was  worse  than  useless  to  explain. 

Even  so,  womanlike,  she  listened,  expecting  to  hear 
Jack's  step  hurrying  up  behind.  She  could  not  imag- 


AN    EXPLANATION    DEMANDED       41 

ine  him  letting  her  go  like  that.  But  he  did  not  come, 
and  when,  at  a  distance  of  two  blocks,  she  stole  a  back 
ward  glance,  he  had  disappeared. 

She  returned  to  the  boarding-house.  The  parlor 
door  stood  wide,  and  the  curious,  quickly  averted  glance 
of  a  girl  she  knew  sent  her  quivering  up  to  her  room. 
Safe  in  that  refuge,  she  sat  down  by  the  window,  with 
her  chin  on  her  palms,  struggling  with  the  impulse  to 
cry,  protesting  with  all  her  young  strength  against 
the  bitterness  that  had  come  to  her  through  no  fault  of 
her  own.  There  was  only  one  cheerful  gleam.  She 
loved  Jack  Barrow.  She  believed  that  he  loved  her, 
and  she  could  not  believe  —  she  could  not  conceive  — 
him  capable  of  keeping  aloof,  obdurate  and  unforgiv 
ing,  once  he  got  out  of  the  black  mood  he  was  in.  Then 
she  could  snuggle  up  close  to  him  and  tell  him  how  and 
why  Mr.  Andrew  Bush  had  struck  at  her  from  his  death 
bed. 

She  was  still  sitting  by  the  window,  watching  the 
yellow  crimson  of  the  sunset,  when  some  one  rapped  at 
her  door.  A  uniformed  messenger  boy  greeted  her 
when  she  opened  it : 

"  Package  for  Miss  Hazel  Weir." 

She  signed  his  delivery  sheet.  The  address  on  the 
package  was  in  Jack's  handwriting.  A  box  of  choco 
lates,  or  some  little  peace  offering,  maybe.  That  was 
like  Jack  when  he  was  sorry  for  anything.  They  had 
quarreled  before  —  over  trifles,  too. 

She  opened  it  hastily.  A  swift  heart  sinking  fol 
lowed.  In  the  small  cardboard  box  rested  a  folded 
scarf,  and  thrust  in  it  a  small  gold  stickpin  —  the  only 


42  NORTH    OF   FIFTY-THREE 

thing  she  had  ever  given  Jack  Barrow.  There  was  no 
message.  She  needed  none  to  understand. 

The  sparkle  of  the  small  diamond  on  her  finger  drew 
her  gaze.  She  worked  his  ring  over  the  knuckle,  and 
dropped  it  on  the  dresser,  where  the  face  in  the  silver 
frame  smiled  up  at  her.  She  stared  at  the  picture  for 
one  long  minute  fixedly,  with  unchanging  expression, 
and  suddenly  she  swept  it  from  the  dresser  with  a  sav 
age  sweep  of  her  hand,  dashed  it  on  the  floor,  and 
stamped  it  shapeless  with  her  slippered  heel. 

"  Oh,  oh !  "  she  gasped.  "  I  hate  you  —  I  hate  you ! 
I  despise  you !  " 

And  then  she  flung  herself  across  the  bed  and  sobbed 
hysterically  into  a  pillow. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  WAY  OF    THE   WORLD   AT   LARGE 

Through  the  night  Hazel  dozed  fitfully,  waking  out 
of  uneasy  sleep  to  lie  staring,  wide-eyed,  into  the  dark, 
every  nerve  in  her  body  taut,  her  mind  abnormally  ac 
tive.  She  tried  to  accept  things  philosophically,  but 
her  philosophy  failed.  There  was  a  hurt,  the  pain  of 
which  she  could  not  ease  by  any  mental  process.  Grief 
and  anger  by  turns  mastered  her,  and  at  daybreak  she 
rose,  heavy-lidded  and  physically  weary. 

The  first  thing  upon  which  her  gaze  alighted  was  the 
crumpled  photo  in  its  shattered  frame;  and,  sitting  on 
the  side  of  her  bed,  she  laughed  at  the  sudden  fury  in 
vhich  she  had  destroyed  it;  but  there  was  no  mirth  in 
her  laughter. 

"  '  Would  we  not  shatter  it  to  little  bits — and  then,'  " 
she  murmured.  "  No,  Mr.  John  Barrow,  I  don't  be 
lieve  I'd  want  to  mold  you  nearer  to  my  heart's  desire. 
Not  after  yesterday  evening.  There's  such  a  thing  as 
being  hurt  so  badly  that  one  finally  gets  numb;  and 
one  always  shrinks  from  anything  that  can  deliver  such 
a  hurt.  Well,  it's  another  day.  And  there'll  be  lots 
of  other  days,  I  suppose." 

She  gathered  up  the  bits  of  broken  glass  and  the  bent 
frame,  and  put  them  in  a  drawer,  dressed  herself,  and 
went  down  to  breakfast.  She  was  too  deeply  engrossed 


44  NORTH    OF   FIFTY-THREE 

in  her  own  troubles  to  notice  or  care  whether  any  subtle 
change  was  becoming  manifest  in  the  attitude  of  her  fel 
low  boarders.  The  worst,  she  felt  sure,  had  already 
overtaken  her.  In  reaction  to  the  sensitive,  shrinking 
mood  of  the  previous  day,  a  spirit  of  defiance  had  taken 
possession  of  her.  Figuratively  she  declared  that  the 
world  could  go  to  the  devil,  and  squared  her  shoulders 
with  the  declaration. 

She  had  a  little  time  to  spare,  and  that  time  she 
devoted  to  making  up  a  package  of  Barrow's  ring  and 
a  few  other  trinkets  which  he  bad  given  her.  This  she 
addressed  to  his  office  and  posted  while  on  her  way  to 
work. 

She  got  through  the  day  somehow,  struggling 
against  thoughts  that  would  persist  in  creeping  into 
her  mind  and  stirring  up  emotions  that  she  was  de 
termined  to  hold  in  check.  Work,  she  knew,  was  her 
only  salvation.  If  she  sat  idle,  thinking,  the  tears 
would  come  in  spite  of  her,  and  a  horrible,  choky  feel 
ing  in  her  throat.  She  set  her  teeth  and  thumped  away 
at  her  machine,  grimly  vowing  that  Jack  Barrow  nor 
any  other  man  should  make  her  heart  ache  for  long. 

And  so  she  got  through  the  week.  Saturday  even 
ing  came,  and  she  went  home,  dreading  Sunday's  idle 
ness,  with  its  memories.  The  people  at  Mrs.  Stout's 
'establishment,  she  plainly  saw,  were  growing  a  trifle 
shy  of  her.  She  had  never  been  on  terms  of  intimacy 
with  any  of  them  during  her  stay  there,  hence  their  at 
titude  troubled  little  after  the  first  supersensitiveness 
wore  off.  But  her  own  friends,  girls  with  whom  she 
had  played  in  the  pinafore-and-pigtail  stages  of  her 


THE   WAY    OF    THE   WORLD  45 

youth,  young  men  who  had  paid  court  to  her  until  Jack 
Barrow  monopolized  her  —  she  did  not  know  how  they 
stood.  She  had  seen  none  of  them  since  Bush  launched 
his  last  bolt.  Barrow  she  had  passed  on  the  street  just 
once,  and  when  he  lifted  his  hat  distantly,  she  looked 
straight  ahead,  and  ignored  him.  Whether  she  hurt 
him  as  much  as  she  did  herself  by  the  cut  direct  would 
be  hard  to  say. 

On  Saturday  evenings  and  Sunday  afternoons  or 
dinarily  from  two  to  a  dozen  girl  friends  called  her  up 
at  the  boarding-house,  or  dropped  in  by  ones  and  twos 
to  chat  a  while,  tease  her  about  Jack,  or  plan  some  mild 
frivolity.  Hazel  went  home,  wondering  if  they,  too, 
would  stand  aloof. 

When  Sunday  noon  arrived,  and  the  phone  had  failed 
to  call  her  once,  and  not  one  of  all  her  friends  had 
dropped  in,  Hazel  twisted  her  chair  so  that  she  could 
stare  at  the  image  of  herself  in  the  mirror. 

"  You're  in  a  fair  way  to  become  a  pariah,  it  seems," 
she  said  bitterly.  "  What  have  you  done,  I  wonder, 
that  you've  lost  your  lover,  and  that  Alice  and  May 
and  Hortense  and  all  the  rest  of  them  keep  away  from 
you?  Nothing  —  not  a  thing  —  except  that  your 
looks  attracted  a  man,  and  the  man  threw  stones  when 
he  couldn't  have  his  way.  Oh,  well,  what's  the  differ 
ence?  You've  got  two  good  hands,  and  you're  not 
afraid  of  work." 

She  walked  out  to  Granville  Park  after  luncheon, 
and  found  a  seat  on  a  shaded  bench  beside  the  lake. 
People  passed  and  repassed  —  couples,  youngsters,  old 
people,  children.  It  made  her  lonely  beyond  measure. 


46  NORTH    OF   FIFTY-THREE 

She  hab!  never  been  isolated  among  her  own  kind  before. 
She  could  not  remember  a  time  when  she  had  gone  to 
Granville  Park  by  herself.  But  she  was  learning  fast 
to  stand  on  her  own  feet. 

A  group  of  young  people  came  sauntering  along  the 
path.  Hazel  looked  up  as  they  neared  her,  chattering 

to  each  other.     Maud  Steele  and  Bud  Wells,  and 

why,  she  knew  every  one  of  the  party.  They  were 
swinging  an  empty  picnic  basket,  and  laughing  at  every 
thing  and  nothing.  Hazel  caught  her  breath  as  they 
came  abreast,  not  over  ten  feet  away.  The  three  young 
men  raised  their  hats  self-consciously. 

"  Hello,  Hazel !  "  the  girl  said. 

But  they  passed  on.  It  seemed  to  Hazel  that  they 
quickened  their  pace  a  trifle.  It  made  her  grit  her 
teeth  in  resentful  anger.  Ten  minutes  later  she  left 
the  park  and  caught  a  car  home.  Once  in  her  room 
she  broke  down. 

"  Oh,  I'll  go  mad  if  I  stay  here  and  this  sort  of  thing 
goes  on ! "  she  cried  forlornly. 

A  sudden  thought  struck  her. 

"  Why  should  I  stay  here?  "  she  said  aloud.  "  Why? 
W/Hat's  to  keep  me  here?  I  can  make  my  living  any 
where." 

"  But,  no,"  she  asserted  passionately,  "  I  won't  run 
away.  Tiiat  would  be  running  away,  and  I  haven't 
anything  to  be  ashamed  of.  I  will  not  run." 

Still  the  idea  kept  recurring  to  her.  It  promised 
relief  from  the  hurt  of  averted  faces  and  coolness  where 
she  had  a  right  to  expect  sympathy  and  friendship. 
She  had  never  been  more  than  two  hundred  miles  from 


THE   WAY    OF    THE   WORLD  47 

Granville  in  her  life.  But  she  knew  that  a  vast,  rich 
land  spread  south  and  west.  She  was  human  and  thor 
oughly  feminine;  loneliness  appalled  her,  and  she  had 
never  suffered  as  Granville  at  large  was  making  her 
suffer. 

The  legal  notice  of  the  bequest  was  mailed  to  her. 
She  tore  up  the  letter  and  threw  it  in  the  fire  as  if  it 
were  some  poisonous  thing.  The  idea  of  accepting  his 
money  stirred  her  to  a  perfect  frenzy.  That  was  piling 
it  up. 

All  during  the  nest  week  she  worked  at  her  machine 
in  the  office  of  the  furniture  company,  keeping  strictly 
to  herself,  doing  her  work  impassively,  efficiently,  be 
traying  no  sign  of  the  feelings  that  sometimes  rose  up, 
the  despairing  protest  and  angry  rebellion  against  the 
dubious  position  she  was  in  through  no  fault  of  her  own. 
She  swore  she  would  not  leave  Granville,  and  it  galled 
her  to  stay.  It  was  a  losing  fight,  and  she  knew  it 
even  if  she  did  not  admit  the  fact.  If  she  could  have 
poured  the  whole  miserable  tale  into  some  sympathetic 
ear  she  would  have  felt  better,  and  each  day  would 
have  seemed  less  hard.  But  there  was  no  such  ear. 
Her  friends  kept  away. 

Saturday  of  the  second  week  her  pay  envelope  con 
tained  a  brief  notice  that  the  firm  no  longer  required 
her  services.  There  was  no  explanation,  only  perfunc 
tory  regrets;  and,  truth  to  tell,  Hazel  cared  little  to 
know  the  real  cause.  Any  one  of  a  number  of  reasons 
might  have  been  sufficient.  But  she  realized  how  those 
who  knew  her  would  take  it,  what  cause  they  would 
ascribe.  It  did  not  matter,  though.  The  very  worst, 


48  NORTH    OF    FIFTY-THREE 

she  reasoned,  could  not  be  so  bad  as  what  had  already 
happened  —  could  be  no  more  disagreeable  than  the 
things  she  had  endured  in  the  past  two  weeks.  Losing 
a  position  was  a  trifle.  But  it  set  her  thinking  again. 

"  It  doesn't  seem  to  be  a  case  of  flight,"  she  reflected 
on  her  way  home,  "  so  much  as  a  case  of  being  frozen 
out,  compelled  to  go.  I  can't  stay  here  and  be  idle. 
I  have  to  work  in  order  to  live.  Well,  I'm  not  gone 
yet." 

She  stopped  at  a  news  stand  and  bought  the  evening 
papers.  Up  in  the  top  rack  of  the  stand  the  big  heads 
of  an  assorted  lot  of  Western  papers  caught  her  eye. 
She  bought  two  or  three  on  the  impulse  of  the  moment, 
without  any  definite  purpose  except  to  look  them  over 
out  of  mere  curiosity.  With  these  tucked  under  her 
arm,  she  turned  into  the  boarding-house  gate,  ran  up 
the  steps,  and,  upon  opening  the  door,  her  ears  were 
gladdened  by  the  first  friendly  voice  she  had  heard  — 
it  seemed  to  her  —  in  ages,  a  voice  withal  that  she  had 
least  expected  to  hear.  A  short,  plump  woman  rushed 
out  of  the  parlor,  and  precipitated  herself  bodily  upon 
Hazel. 

"  Kitty  Ryan !  Where  in  the  wide,  wide  world  did 
you  come  from?  "  Hazel  cried. 

"  From  the  United  States  and  everywhere,"  Miss 
Ryan  replied.  "  Take  me  up  to  your  room,  dear, 
where  we  can  talk  our  heads  off. 

"  And,  furthermore,  Hazie,  I'll  be  pleased  to  have 
you  address  me  as  Mrs.  Brooks,  my  dear  young 
woman,"  the  plump  lady  laughed,  as  she  settled  her 
self  in  a  chair  in  Hazel's  room. 


THE   WAY    OF   THE   WORLD  49 

"  So  you're  married?  "  Hazel  said. 

"  I  am  that,"  Mrs.  Kitty  responded  emphatically, 
"  to  the  best  boy  that  ever  drew  breath.  And  so  should 
you  be,  dear  girl.  I  don't  see  how  you've  escaped  so 
long  —  a  good-looking  girl  like  you.  The  boys  were 
always  crazy  after  you.  There's  nothing  like  having 
a  good  man  to  take  care  of  you,  dear." 

"  Heaven  save  me  from  them ! "  Hazel  answered  bit 
terly.  "  If  you've  got  a  good  one,  you're  lucky.  I 
can't  see  them  as  anything  but  self-centered,  arrogant, 
treacherous  brutes." 

"  Lord  bless  us  —  it's  worse  than  I  thought !  " 
Kitty  jumped  up  and  threw  her  arms  around  Hazel. 
"  There,  there  —  don't  waste  a  tear  on  them.  I  know 
all  about  it.  I  came  over  to  see  you  just  as  soon  as 
some  of  the  girls  —  nasty  little  cats  they  are ;  a 
woman's  always  meaner  than  a  man,  dear  —  just  as 
soon  as  they  gave  me  an  inkling  of  how  things  were  go 
ing  with  you.  Pshaw  I  The  world's  full  of  good,  de 
cent  fellows  —  and  you've  got  one  coming." 

"  I  hope  not,"  Hazel  protested. 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  have,"  Mrs.  Brooks  smilingly  assured 
her.  "  A  woman  without  a  man  is  only  half  a  human 
being,  anyway,  you  know  —  and  vice  versa.  I  know. 
We  can  cuss  the  men  all  we  want  to,  my  dear,  and  some 
of  us  unfortunately  have  a  nasty  experience  with  one 
now  and  then.  But  we  can't  get  away  from  the  funda 
mental  laws  of  being." 

"  If  you'd  had  my  experience  of  the  last  two  weeks 
you'd  sing  a  different  tune,"  Hazel  vehemently  declared. 
"I  hate  — I—" 


50  NORTH   OF   FIFTY-THREE 

And  then  she  gave  way,  and  indulged  in  tKe  luxury 
of  turning  herself  loose  on  Kitty's  shoulder.  Pres 
ently  she  was  able  to  wipe  her  eyes  and  relate  the  whole 
story  from  the  Sunday  Mr.  Bush  stopped  and  spoke 
to  her  in  the  park  down  to  that  evening. 

Kitty  nodded  understanding^.  "  But  the  girk 
have  handed  it  to  you  worse  than  the  men,  Hazel,"  she 
observed  sagely.  "  Jack  Barrow  was  just  plain  crazy 
jealous,  and  a  man  like  that  can't  help  acting  as  he  did. 
You're  really  fortunate,  I  think,  because  you'd  not  be 
really  happy  with  a  man  like  that.  But  the  girls  that 
you  and  I  grew  up  with  —  they  should  have  stood  by 
you,  knowing  you  as  they  did;  yet  you  see  they  were 
ready  to  think  the  worst  of  you.  They  nearly  always 
do  when  there's  a  man  in  the  case.  That's  a  weakness 
of  our  sex,  dear.  My,  what  a  vindictive  old  Turk  that 
Bush  must  have  been!  Well,  you  aren't  working. 
Come  and  stay  with  me.  Hubby's  got  a  two-year  con 
tract  with  the  World  Advertising  Company.  We'll  be 
located  here  that  long  at  least.  Come  and  stay  with 
us.  We'll  show  these  little-minded  folk  a  thing  or 
two.  Leave  it  to  us." 

"Oh,  no,  I  couldn't  think  of  that,  Kitty!"  Hazel 
faltered.  "  You  know  I'd  love  to,  and  it's  awfully  good 
of  you,  but  I  think  I'm  just  about  ready  to  go  away 
from  Granville." 

"  Well,  come  and  stop  with  us  till  you  do  go,"  Kitty 
insisted.  "  We  are  going  to  take  a  furnished  cottage 
for  a  while.  Though,  between  you  and  me,  dear, 
knowing  people  as  I  do,  I  can't  blame  you  for  wanting 
to  be  where  their  nasty  tongues  can't  wound  you." 


THE   WAY    OF    THE   WORLD  5* 

But  Hazel  was  obdurate.  She  would  not  inflict  her 
self  on  the  one  friend  she  had  left.  And  Kitty,  after 
a  short  talk,  berated  her  affectionately  for  her  inde 
pendence,  and  rose  to  go. 

"  For,"  said  she,  "  I  didn't  get  hold  of  this  thing  till 
Addie  Horton  called  at  the  hotel  this  afternoon,  and  I 
didn't  stop  to  think  that  it  was  near  teatime,  but  came 
straight  here.  Jimmie'll  think  I've  eloped.  So  ta-ta. 
I'll  come  out  to-morrow  about  two.  I  have  to  confab 
with  a  house  agent  in  the  forenoon.  By-by." 

Hazel  sat  down  and  actually  smiled  when  Kitty  was 
gone.  Somehow  a  grievous  burden  had  fallen  off  her 
mind.  Likewise,  by  some  psychological  quirk,  the  idea 
of  leaving  Granville  and  making  her  home  elsewhere  no 
longer  struck  her  as  running  away  under  fire.  She  did 
not  wish  to  subject  Kitty  Brooks  to  the  difficulties,  the 
embarrassment  that  might  arise  from  having  her  as 
a  guest;  but  the  mere  fact  that  Kitty  stood  stanchly 
by  her  made  the  world  seem  less  harsh  and  dreary,  made 
it  seem  as  if  she  had,  in  a  measure,  justified  herself. 
She  felt  that  she  could  adventure  forth  among  strangers 
in  a  strange  country  with  a  better  heart,  knowing  that 
Kitty  Brooks  would  put  a  swift  quietus  on  any  gossip 
that  came  her  way. 

So  that  Hazel  went  down  to  the  dining-room  light- 
heartedly,  and  when  the  meal  was  finished  came  back 
and  fell  to  reading  her  papers.  The  first  of  the  West 
ern  papers  was  a  Vancouver  World.  In  a  real-estate 
man's  half-page  she  found  a  diminutive  sketch  plan 
of  the  city  on  the  shores  of  Burrard  Inlet,  Canada's 
principal  outpost  on  the  far  Pacific. 


52  NORTH    OF    FIFTY-THREE 

"  It's  quite  a  big  place,"  she  murmured  absently. 
"  One  would  be  far  enough  away  there,  goodness 
knows." 

Then  she  turned  to  the  "  Help  Wanted  "  advertise 
ments.  The  thing  which  impressed  her  quickly  and 
most  vividly  was  the  dearth  of  demand  for  clerks  and 
stenographers,  and  the  repeated  calls  for  domestic  help 
and  such.  Domestic  service  she  shrank  from  except 
as  a  last  resort.  And  down  near  the  bottom  of  the 
column  she  happened  on  an  inquiry  for  a  school-teacher, 
female  preferred,  in  an  out-of-the-way  district  in  the 
interior  of  the  province. 

"  Now,  that  — "  Hazel  thought. 

She  had  a  second-class  certificate  tucked  away  among 
her  belongings.  Originally  it  had  been  her  intention 
to  teach,  and  she  had  done  so  one  term  in  a  backwoods 
school  when  she  was  eighteen.  With  the  ending  of  the 
term  she  had  returned  to  Granville,  studied  that  winter, 
and  got  her  second  certificate ;  but  at  the  same  time  she 
had  taken  a  business-college  course,  and  the  following 
June  found  her  clacking  a  typewriter  at  nine  dollars 
a  week.  And  her  teacher's  diploma  had  remained  in 
the  bottom  of  her  trunk  ever  since. 

"  I  could  teach,  I  suppose,  by  rubbing  up  a  little 
on  one  or  two  subjects  as  I  went  along,"  she  reflected. 
"  I  wonder  now  — " 

What  she  wondered  was  how  much  salary  she  could 
expect,  and  she  took  up  the  paper  again,  and  looked 
carefully  for  other  advertisements  calling  for  teachers. 
In  the  World  and  in  a  Winnipeg  paper  she  found  one 
or  two  vacancies  to  fill  out  the  fall  term,  and  gathered 


THE    WAY    OF    THE    WORLD  53 

that  Western  schools  paid  from  fifty  to  sixty  dollars 
a  month  for  "  schoolma'ams  "  with  certificates  such  as 
she  held. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  she  asked  herself.  "  I've  got  two  re 
sources.  If  I  can't  get  office  work  I  can  teach.  I  can, 
do  anything  if  I  have  to.  And  it's  far  enough  away, 
in  all  conscience  —  all  of  twenty-five  hundred  miles." 

Unaccountably,  since  Kitty  Brooks'  visit,  she  found 
herself  itching  to  turn  her  back  on  Granville  and  its 
unpleasant  associations.  She  did  not  attempt  to  ana 
lyze  the  feeling.  Strange  lands,  and  most  of  all  the 
West,  held  alluring  promise.  She  sat  in  her  rocker, 
and  could  not  help  but  dream  of  places  where  people 
were  a  little  broader  gauge,  a  little  less  prone  to  narrow, 
conventional  judgments.  Other  people  had  done  as 
she  proposed  doing  —  cut  loose  from  their  established 
environment,  and  made  a  fresh  start  in  countries  where 
none  knew  or  cared  whence  they  came  or  who  they  were. 
Why  not  she?  One  thing  was  certain:  Granville,  for 
all  she  had  been  born  there,  and  grown  to  womanhood 
there,  was  now  no  place  for  her.  The  very  people  who 
knew  her  best  would  make  her  suffer  most. 

She  spent  that  evening  going  thoroughly  over  the 
papers  and  writing  letters  to  various  school  boards, 
taking  a  chance  at  one  or  two  she  found  in  the  Mani 
toba  paper,  but  centering  her  hopes  on  the  country 
west  of  the  Rockies.  Her  letters  finished,  she  took 
stock  of  her  resources  —  verified  them,  rather,  for  she 
had  not  so  much  money  that  she  did  not  know  almost 
where  she  stood.  Her  savings  in  the  bank  amounted 
to  three  hundred  odd  dollars,  and  cash  in  hand  brought 


54  NORTH    OF   FIFTY-THREE 

the  sum  to  a  total  of  three  hundred  and  sixty-five.  At 
any  rate,  she  had  sufficient  to  insure  her  living  for 
quite  a  long  time.  And  she  went  to  bed  feeling  better 
than  she  had  felt  for  two  weeks. 

Kitty  Brooks  came  again  the  next  afternoon,  and, 
being  a  young  woman  of  wide  experience  and  good 
sense,  made  no  further  attempt  to  influence  Hazel  one 
way  or  the  other. 

"  I  hate  to  see  you  go,  though,"  she  remarked  truth- 
fully.  "  But  you'll  like  the  West  —  if  it  happens  that 
you  go  there.  You'll  like  it  better  than  the  East ; 
there's  a  different  sort  of  spirit  among  the  people. 
I've  traveled  over  some  of  it,  and  if  Jimmie's  business 
permitted  we'd  both  like  to  live  there.  And  —  getting 
down  to  strictly  practical  things  —  a  girl  can  make  a 
much  better  living  there.  Wages  are  high.  And  — 
who  knows  ?  —  you  might  capture  a  cattle  king." 

Hazel  shrugged  her  shoulders,  and  Mrs.  Kitty  for 
bore  teasing.  After  that  they  gossiped  and  compared 
notes  covering  the  two  years  since  they  had  met  until 
it  was  time  for  Kitty  to  go  home. 

Very  shortly  thereafter  —  almost,  it  seemed,  by  re 
turn  mail  —  Hazel  got  replies  to  her  letters  of  inquiry. 
The  fact  that  each  and  every  one  seemed  bent  on  secur 
ing  her  services  astonished  her. 

"  Schoolma'ams  must  certainly  be  scarce  out  there," 
she  told  herself.  "  This  is  an  embarrassment  of  riches. 
I'm  going  somewhere,  but  which  place  shall  it  be?  " 

But  the  reply  from  Cariboo  Meadows,  B.  C.,  the 
first  place  she  had  thought  of,  decided  her.  The  mem 
ber  of  the  school  board  who  replied  held  forth  the 


THE    WAY    OF    THE    WORLD  55 

natural  beauty  of  the  country  as  much  as  he  did  the 
advantages  of  the  position.  The  thing  that  perhaps 
made  the  strongest  appeal  to  Hazel  was  a  little  kodak 
print  inclosed  in  the  letter,  showing  the  schoolhouse. 

The  building  itself  was  primitive  enough,  of  logs, 
with  a  pole-and-sod  roof.  But  it  was  the  huge  back 
ground,  the  timbered  mountains  rising  to  snow-clad 
heights  against  a  cloudless  sky,  that  attracted  her. 
She  had  never  seen  a  greater  height  of  land  than  the 
rolling  hills  of  Ontario.  Here  was  a  frontier,  big  and 
new  and  raw,  holding  out  to  her  as  she  stared  at  the 
print  a  promise  —  of  what  ?  She  did  not  know.  Ad 
venture?  If  she  desired  adventure,  it  was  purely  a 
subconscious  desire.  But  she  had  lived  in  a  rut  a  long 
time  without  realizing  it  more  than  vaguely,  and  there 
was  something  in  her  nature  that  responded  instantly 
when  she  contemplated  journeying  alone  into  a  far 
country.  She  found  herself  hungering  for  change,  for 
a  measure  of  freedom  from  petty  restraints,  for  elbow- 
room  in  the  wide  spaces,  where  one's  neighbor  might 
be  ten  or  forty  miles  away.  She  knew  nothing  what 
ever  of  such  a  life,  but  she  could  feel  a  certain  envy  of 
those  who  led  it. 

She  sat  for  a  long  time  looking  at  the  picture,  think 
ing.  Here  was  the  concrete,  visible  presentment  of 
something  that  drew  her  strongly.  She  found  an  atlas, 
and  looked  up  Cariboo  Meadows  on  the  map.  It  was 
not  to  be  found,  and  Hazel  judged  it  to  be  a  purely 
local  name.  But  the  letter  told  her  that  she  would  have 
to  stage  it  a  hundred  and  sixty-five  miles  north  from 
Ashcroft,  B.  C.,  where  the  writer  would  meet  her  and 


56  NORTH    OF    FIFTY-THREE 

drive  her  to  the  Meadows.  She  located  the  stage-line' 
terminal  on  the  map,  and  ran  her  forefinger  over  the 
route.  Mountain  and  lake  and  stream  lined  and  dotted 
and  criss-crossed  the  province  from  end  to  end  of  its 
seven-hundred-mile  length.  Back  of  where  Cariboo 
Meadows  should  be  three  or  four  mining  camps  snuggled 
high  in  the  mountains. 

"  What  a  country !  "  she  whispered.  "  It's  wild ; 
really,  truly  wild;  and  everything  I've  ever  seen  has 
been  tamed  and  smoothed  down,  and  made  eminently 
respectable  and  conventional  long  ago.  That's  the 
place.  That's  where  I'm  going,  and  I'm  going  it  blind. 
I'm  not  going  to  tell  any  one  —  not  even  Kitty  —  until, 
like  a  bear,  I've  gone  over  the  mountain  to  see  what  I 
can  see." 

Within  an  hour  of  that  Miss  Hazel  Weir  had  written 
to  accept  the  terms  offered  by  the  Cariboo  Meadows 
school  district,  and  was  busily  packing  her  trunk. 


CHAPTER  VI 

CARIBOO  MEADOWS 

A  tall  man,  sunburned,  slow-speaking,  met  Hazel  at 
Soda  Creek,  the  end  of  her  stage  journey,  introducing 
himself  as  Jim  Briggs. 

"  Pretty  tiresome  trip,  ain't  it? "  he  observed. 
"  You'll  have  a  chance  to  rest  decent  to-night,  and  I 
got  a  team  uh  bays  that'll  yank  yuh  to  the  Meadows 
in  four  hours  'n'  a  half.  My  wife'll  be  plumb  tickled 
to  have  yuh.  They  ain't  much  more'n  half  a  dozen 
white  women  in  ten  miles  uh  the  Meadows.  We  keep 
a  boardin'-house.  Hope  you'll  like  the  country." 

That  was  a  lengthy  speech  for  Jim  Briggs,  as  Hazel 
discovered  when  she  rolled  out  of  Soda  Creek  behind 
the  "  team  uh  bays."  His  conversation  was  decidedly 
monosyllabic.  But  he  could  drive,  if  he  was  no  talker, 
and  his  team  could  travel.  The  road,  albeit  rough  in 
spots,  a  mere  track  through  timber  and  little  gems  of 
open  where  the  yellowing  grass  waved  knee-high,  and 
over  hills  which  sloped  to  deep  canons  lined  with  pine 
and  spruce,  seemed  short  enough.  And  so  by  eleven 
o'clock  Hazel  found  herself  at  Cariboo  Meadows. 

"  Schoolhouse's  over  yonder."  Briggs  pointed  out 
the  place  —  an  unnecessary  guidance,  for  Hazel  had  al 
ready  marked  the  building  set  off  by  itself  and  fortified 


58  NORTH   OF   FIFTY-THREE 

with  a  tall  flagpole.  "  And  here's  where  we  live. 
Kinda  out  uh  the  world,  but  blame  good  place  to  live." 

Hazel  did  like  the  place.  Her  first  impression  was 
thankfulness  that  her  lot  had  been  cast  in  such  a  spot. 
But  it  was  largely  because  of  the  surroundings,  essen 
tially  primitive,  the  clean  air,  guiltless  of  smoke  taint, 
the  aromatic  odors  from  the  forest  that  ranged  for  un 
ending  miles  on  every  hand.  For  the  first  time  in  her 
life,  she  was  beyond  hearing  of  the  clang  of  street 
cars,  the  roar  of  traffic,  the  dirt  and  smells  of  a  city. 
It  seemed  good.  She  had  no  regrets,  no  longing  to  be 
back.  There  was  a  pain  sometimes,  when  in  spite  of 
herself  she  would  fall  to  thinking  of  Jack  Barrow.  But 
that  she  looked  upon  as  a  closed  chapter.  He  had 
hurt  her  where  a  woman  can  be  most  deeply  wounded 
• —  in  her  pride  and  her  affections  —  and  the  hurt  was 
dulled  by  the  smoldering  resentment  that  thinking  of 
him  always  fanned  to  a  flame.  Miss  Hazel  Weir  was 
neither  meek  nor  mild,  even  if  her  environment  had  bred 
in  her  a  repression  that  had  become  second  nature. 

So  with  the  charm  of  the  wild  land  fresh  upon  her, 
she  took  kindly  to  Cariboo  Meadows.  The  immediate, 
disagreeable  past  bade  fair  to  become  as  remote  in 
reality  as  the  distance  made  it  seem.  Surely  no  ghosts 
would  walk  here  to  make  people  look  askance  at  her. 

Her  first  afternoon  she  spent  loafing  on  the  porch  of 
the  Briggs  domicile,  within  which  Mrs.  Briggs,  a  fat, 
good-natured  person  of  forty,  toiled  at  her  cooking 
for  the  *'  boarders,"  and  kept  a  brood  of  five  tumultuous 
youngsters  in  order  —  the  combined  tasks  leaving  her 
scant  time  to  entertain  her  newly  arrived  guest.  From 


CARIBOO   MEADOWS  59 

the  vantage  ground  of  the  porch  Hazel  got  her  first 
glimpse  of  the  turns  life  occasionally  takes  when  there 
is  no  policeman  just  around  the  corner. 

Cariboo  Meadows,  as  a  town,  was  simply  a  double 
row  of  buildings  facing  each  other  across  a  wagon  road. 
Two  stores,  a  blacksmith  shop,  a  feed  stable,  certain  i 
other  nondescript  buildings,  and  a  few  dwellings,  mostly 
of  logs,  was  all.  Probably  not  more  than  a  total  of 
fifty  souls  made  permanent  residence  there.  But  the 
teams  of  ranchers  stood  in  the  street,  and  a  few  saddled 
cow  ponies  whose  listlessness  was  mostly  assumed.  Be 
fore  one  of  the  general  stores  a  prospector  fussed  with 
a  string  of  pack  horses.  Directly  opposite  Briggs' 
boarding-house  stood  a  building  labeled  "  Regent 
Hotel."  Hazel  could  envisage  it  all  with  a  half  turn 
of  her  head. 

From  this  hotel  there  presently  issued  a  young  man 
idressed  in  the  ordinary  costume  of  the  country  —  wide 
hat,  flannel  shirt,  overalls,  boots.  He  sat  down  on  a 
box  close  by  the  hotel  entrance.  In  a  few  minutes 
another  came  forth.  He  walked  past  the  first  a  few 
steps,  stopped,  and  said  something.  Hazel  could  not 
hear  the  words.  The  first  man  was  filling  a  pipe.  Ap 
parently  he  made  no  reply ;  at  least,  he  did  not  trouble 
to  look  up.  But  she  saw  his  shoulders  lift  in  a  shrug. 
Then  he  who  had  passed  turned  square  about  and  spoke 
again,  this  time  lifting  his  voice  a  trifle.  The  young 
fellow  sitting  on  the  box  instantly  became  galvanized 
into  action.  He  flung  out  an  oath  that  carried  across 
the  street  and  made  Hazel's  ears  burn.  At  the  same 
time  he  leaped  from  his  seat  straight  at  the  other  man. 


60  NORTH    OF   FIFTY-THREE 

Hazel  saw  it  quite  distinctly,  saw  him  who  jumped 
dodge  a  vicious  blow  and  close  with  the  other;  and  saw, 
moreover,  something  which  amazed  her.  For  the  young 
fellow  swayed  with  his  adversary  a  second  or  two,  then 
lifted  him  bodily  off  his  feet  almost  to  the  level  of  his 
head,  and  slammed  him  against  the  hotel  wall  with  a 
sudden  twist.  She  heard  the  thump  of  the  body  on 
the  logs.  For  an  instant  she  thought  him  about  to 
jump  with  his  booted  feet  on  the  prostrate  form,  and 
involuntarily  she  held  her  breath.  But  he  stepped  back, 
and  when  the  other  scrambled  up,  he  side-stepped  the 
first  rush,  and  knocked  the  man  down  again  with  a 
blow  of  his  fist.  This  time  he  stayed  down.  Then 
other  men  —  three  or  four  of  them  —  came  out  of  the 
hotel,  stood  uncertainly  a  few  seconds,  and  Hazel  heard 
the  young  fellow  say: 

"  Better  take  that  fool  in  and  bring  him  to.  If  he's 
still  hungry  for  trouble,  I'll  be  right  handy.  I  wonder 
how  many  more  of  you  fellers  I'll  have  to  lick  before 
you'll  get  wise  enough  not  to  start  things  you  can't 
stop?" 

They  supported  the  unconscious  man  through  the 
doorway ;  the  young  fellow  resumed  his  seat  on  the 
Ijbox,  also  his  pipe  filling. 

"  Roarin'  Bill's  goin*  to  get  himself  killed  one  uh 
these  days." 

Hazel  started,  but  it  was  only  Jim  Briggs  in  the 
Hoorway  beside  her. 

"  I  guess  you  ain't  much  used  to  seein'  that  sort  of 
exhibition  where  you  come  from,  Miss  Weir,"  Briggs' 
wife  put  in  over  his  shoulder.  "  My  land,  it's  di? 


CARIBOO    MEADOWS  61 

gustin* — men  fightin'  in  the  street  where  everybody 
can  see  'em.  Thank  goodness,  it  don't  happen  very 
often.  'Specially  when  Bill  Wagstaff  ain't  around. 
You  ain't  shocked,  are  you,  honey  ?  " 

"  Why,  I  didn't  have  time  to  be  shocked,"  Hazel 
laughed.  "  It  was  done  so  quickly." 

"  If  them  fellers  would  leave  Bill  alone,"  Briggs  re 
marked,  "  there  wouldn't  be  no  fight.  But  he  goes  off 
like  a  hair-trigger  gun,  and  he'd  scrap  a  dozen  quick 
as  one.  I'm  lookin'  to  see  his  finish  one  uh  these  days." 

"  What  a  name !  "  Hazel  observed,  caught  by  the  ap 
pellation  Briggs  had  first  used.  "  Is  that  Roaring  Bill 
over  there  ?  " 

"That's  him  —  Roarin'  Bill  Wagstaff,"  Briggs 
answered.  *'  If  he  takes  a  few  drinks,  you'll  find  out 
to-night  how  he  got  the  name.  Sings  —  just  like  a 
bull  moose  —  hear  him  all  over  town.  Probably  whip 
two  or  three  men  before  morninV 

His  spouse  calling  him  at  that  moment,  Briggs  de 
tailed  no  more  information  about  Roaring  Bill.  And 
Hazel  sat  looking  across  the  way  with  considerable 
interest  at  the  specimen  of  a  type  which  hitherto  she 
had  encountered  in  the  pages  of  fiction  —  a  fighting 
man,  what  the  West  called  a  "  bad  actor."  She  had, 
however,  no  wish  for  closer  study  of  that  particular 
type.  The  men  of  her  world  had  been  altogether  dif 
ferent,  and  the  few  frontier  specimens  she  had  met  at 
the  Briggs'  dinner  table  had  not  impressed  her  with  any 
thing  except  their  shyness  and  manifest  awkwardness 
in  her  presence.  The  West  itself  appealed  to  her,  its 
bigness,  its  nearness  to  the  absolutely  primeval,  but 


62  NORTH   OF   FIFTY-THREE 

not  the  people  she  had  so  far  met.  They  were  not 
wrapped  in  a  glamor  of  romance;  she  was  altogether 
too  keen  to  idealize  them.  They  were  not  her  kind, 
and  while  she  granted  their  worth,  they  were  more 
picturesque  about  their  own  affairs  than  when  she  came 
in  close  contact  with  them.  Those  were  her  first  im 
pressions.  And  so  she  looked  at  Roaring  Bill  Wag- 
staff,  over  the  way,  with  a  quite  impersonal  interest. 

He  came  into  Briggs'  place  for  supper.  Mrs.  Briggs 
was  her  own  waitress.  Briggs  himself  sat  beside  Hazel. 
She  heard  him  grunt,  and  saw  a  mild  look  of  surprise 
flit  over  his  countenance  when  Roaring  Bill  walked  in 
and  coolly  took  a  seat.  But  not  until  Hazel  glanced 
at  the  newcomer  did  she  recognize  him  as  the  man  who 
had  fought  in  the  street.  He  was  looking  straight  at 
her  when  she  did  glance  up,  and  the  mingled  astonish 
ment  and  frank  admiration  in  his  clear  gray  eyes  made 
Hazel  drop  hers  quickly  to  her  plate.  Since  Mr.  An 
drew  Bush,  she  was  beginning  to  hate  men  who  looked 
at  her  that  way.  And  she  could  not  help  seeing  that 
many  did  so  look. 

Roaring  Bill  ate  his  supper  in  silence.  No  one 
spoke  to  him,  and  he  addressed  no  one  except  to  ask 
that  certain  dishes  be  passed.  Among  the  others  con 
versation  was  general.  Hazel  noticed  that,  and  won 
dered  why  —  wondered  if  Roaring  Bill  was  taboo.  She 
had  sensed  enough  of  the  Western  point  of  view  to 
know  that  the  West  held  nothing  against  a  man  who 
was  quick  to  blows  —  rather  admired  such  a  one,  in 
fact.  And  her  conclusions  were  not  complimentary 
to  Mr  6ill  Wagstaff.  If  people  avoided  him  in  that 


CARIBOO   MEADOWS  63 

country,  he  must  be  a  very  hard  citizen  indeed.  And 
Hazel  no  more  than  formulated  this  opinion  than  she 
•was  ashamed  of  it,  having  her  own  recent  experience 
in  mind.  Whereupon  she  dismissed  Bill  Wagstaff  from 
her  thoughts  altogether  when  she  left  the  table. 

Exactly  three  days  later  Hazel  came  into  the  dining- 
room  at  noon,  and  there  received  her  first  lesson  in  the 
truth  that  this  world  is  a  very  small  place,  after  all. 
A  nattily  dressed  gentleman  seated  to  one  side  of  her 
place  at  table  rose  with  the  most  polite  bows  and  ex 
tended  hand.  Hazel  recognized  him  at  a  glance  as 
Mr.  Howard  Perkins,  traveling  salesman  for  Harring 
ton  &  Bush.  She  had  met  him  several  times  in  the 
company  offices.  She  was  anything  save  joyful  at  the 
meeting,  but  after  the  first  unwelcome  surprise  she  re 
flected  that  it  was  scarcely  strange  that  a  link  in  her 
past  life  should  turn  up  here,  for  she  knew  that  in  the 
very  nature  of  things  a  firm  manufacturing  agricul 
tural  implements  would  have  its  men  drumming  up 
trade  on  the  very  edge  of  the  frontier. 

Mr.  Perkins  was  tolerably  young,  good  looking,  talka 
tive,  apparently  glad  to  meet  some  one  from  home.  He 
joined  her  on  the  porch  for  a  minute  when  the  meal 
was  over.  And  he  succeeded  in  putting  Hazel  un 
qualifiedly  at  her  ease  so  far  as  he  was  concerned.  If 
he  had  heard  any  Granville  gossip,  if  he  knew  why  she 
had  left  Granville,  it  evidently  cut  no  figure  with  him. 
As  a  consequence,  while  she  was  simply  polite  and  nega 
tively  friendly,  deep  in  her  heart  Hazel  felt  a  pleasant 
reaction  from  the  disagreeable  things  for  which  Gran 
ville  stood;  and,  though  she  nursed  both  resentment 


64  NORTH    OF    FIFTY-THREE 

and  distrust  against  men  in  general,  it  did  not  seen: 
to  apply  to  Mr.  Perkins.  Anyway,  he  was  here  to-day, 
and  on  the  morrow  he  would  be  gone. 

Being  a  healthy,  normal  young  person,  Hazel  en 
joyed  his  company  without  being  fully  aware  of  the 
fact.  So  much  for  natural  gregariousness.  Further 
more,  Mr.  Perkins  in  his  business  had  been  pretty  much 
everywhere  on  the  North  American  continent,  and  he 
knew  how  to  set  forth  his  various  experiences.  Most 
women  would  have  found  him  interesting,  particularly 
in  a  community  isolated  as  Cariboo  Meadows,  where 
tailored  clothes  and  starched  collars  seemed  unknown, 
and  every  man  was  his  own  barber  —  at  infrequent  in 
tervals. 

So  Hazel  found  it  quite  natural  to  be  chatting  with 
him  on  the  Briggs'  porch  when  her  school  work  ended 
at  three-thirty  in  the  afternoon.  It  transpired  that 
Mr.  Perkins,  like  herself,  had  an  appreciation  of  the 
scenic  beauties,  and  also  the  picturesque  phases  of  life 
as  it  ran  in  the  Cariboo  country.  They  talked  of  many 
things,  discussed  life  in  a  city  as  compared  with  ex 
istence  in  the  wild,  and  were  agreed  that  both  had  de 
sirable  features  —  and  drawbacks.  Finally  Mr.  Per 
kins  proposed  a  walk  up  on  a  three-hundred-foot  knoll 
that  sloped  from  the  back  door,  so  to  speak,  of  Cariboo 
Meadows.  Hazel  got  her  hat,  and  they  set  out.  She 
had  climbed  that  hill  by  herself,  and  she  knew  that  it 
commanded  a  great  sweep  of  the  rolling  land  to  the 
west. 

They  reached  the  top  in  a  few  minutes,  and  found 
a  seat  on  a  dead  tree  trunk.  Mr.  Perkins  was  properly 


CARIBOO    MEADOWS  65 

impressed  with  the  outlook.  But  before  very  long 
he  seemed  to  suffer  a  relaxation  of  his  interest  in  the 
view  and  a  corresponding  increase  of  attention  to  his 
companion.  Hazel  recognized  the  symptoms.  At 
first  it  amused,  then  it  irritated  her.  The  playful 
familiarity  of  Mr.  Perkins  suddenly  got  on  her  nerves., 

"  I  think  I  shall  go  down,"  she  said  abruptly. 

"  Oh,  I  say,  now,  there's  no  hurry,"  Perkins  re 
sponded  smilingly. 

But  she  was  already  rising  from  her  seat,  and  Mr. 
Perkins,  very  likely  gauging  his  action  according  to 
his  experience  in  other  such  situations,  did  an  utterly 
foolish  thing.  He  caught  her  as  she  rose,  and  laugh 
ingly  tried  to  kiss  her.  Whereupon  he  discovered  that 
he  had  caught  a  tartar,  for  Hazel  slapped  him  irith  all 
the  force  she  could  muster  —  which  was  considerable, 
judging  by  the  flaming  red  spot  which  the  smack  of  her 
palm  left  on  his  smooth-shaven  cheek.  But  he  did  not 
seem  to  mind  that.  Probably  he  had  been  slapped  be 
fore,  and  regarded  it  as  part  of  the  game.  He  at 
tempted  to  draw  her  closer. 

"  Why,  you're  a  regular  scrapper,"  he  smiled. 
"  Now,  I'm  sure  you  didn't  cuff  Bush  that  way." 

Hazel  jerked  loose  from  his  grip  in  a  perfect  fury, 
using  at  the  same  time  the  weapons  nature  gave  hei 
according  to  her  strength,  whereby  Mr.  Perkins  suf 
fered  sundry  small  bruises,  which  were  as  nothing  to 
the  bruises  his  conceit  suffered.  For,  being  free  of 
him,  Hazel  stood  her  ground  long  enough  to  tell  him 
that  he  was  a  cad,  a  coward,  an  ill-bred  nincompoop, 
and  other  epithets  grievous  to  masculine  vanity.  With 


66  NORTH   OF   FIFTY-THREE 

that  she  fled  incontinently  down  the  hill,  furious,  shamed 
almost  to  tears,  and  wishing  fervently  that  she  had  the 
muscle  of  a  man  to  requite  the  insult  as  it  deserved. 
To  cap  the  climax,  Mrs.  Briggs,  who  had  seen  the  two 
depart,  observed  her  return  alone,  and,  with  a  curious 
look,  asked  jokingly: 

"  Did  you  lose  the  young  man  in  the  timber?  " 

And  Hazel,  being  keyed  to  a  fearful  pitch,  unwisely 
snapped  back: 

"  I  hope  so." 

Which  caused  Mrs.  Briggs'  gaze  to  follow  her  won- 
deringly  as  she  went  hastily  to  her  own  room. 

Like  other  mean  souls  of  similar  pattern,  it  suited 
Mr.  Perkins  to  seek  revenge  in  the  only  way  possible  — 
by  confidentially  relating  to  divers  individuals  during 
that  evening  the  Granville  episode  in  the  new  teacher's 
career.  At  least,  Hazel  guessed  he  must  have  told 
the  tale  of  that  ambiguously  worded  bequest  and  the 
subsequent  gossip,  for  as  early  as  the  next  day  she 
caught  certain  of  Jim  Briggs'  boarders  looking  at 
her  with  an  interest  they  had  not  heretofore  dis 
played  —  or,  rather,  it  should  be  said,  with  a  different 
sort  of  interest.  They  were  discussing  her.  She  could 
inot  know  it  positively,  but  she  felt  it. 

The  feeling  grew  to  certainty  after  Perkins*  depar 
ture  that  day.  There  was  a  different  atmosphere. 
Probably,  she  reflected,  he  had  thrown  in  a  few  em 
bellishments  of  his  own  for  good  measure.  She  felt 
&  tigerish  impulse  to  choke  him.  But  she  was  proud, 
and  she  carried  her  head  in  the  air,  and,  in  effect,  told 
Cariboo  Meadows  to  believe  as  it  pleased  and  act  as 


CARIBOO    MEADOWS  67 

it  pleased.  They  could  do  no  more  than  cut  her  and 
cause  her  to  lose  her  school.  She  managed  to  keep  up 
an  air  of  cool  indifference  that  gave  no  hint  of  the  de 
spairing  protest  that  surged  close  to  the  surface.  In 
dividually  and  collectively,  she  reiterated  to  herself, 
she  despised  men.  Her  resentment  had  not  yet  ex 
tended  to  the  women  of  Cariboo  Meadows.  They  were 
mostly  too  busy  with  their  work  to  be  much  in  the 
foreground.  She  did  observe,  or  thought  she  ob 
served,  a  certain  coolness  in  Mrs.  Briggs'  manner  —  a 
sort  of  suspended  judgment. 

In  the  meantime,  she  labored  diligently  at  her  ap 
pointed  task  of  drilling  knowledge  into  the  heads  of  a 
dozen  youngsters.  From  nine  until  three-thirty  she 
had  that  to  occupy  her  mind  to  the  exclusion  of  more 
troublesome  things.  When  school  work  for  the  day 
ended,  she  went  to  her  room,  or  sat  on  the  porch,  or 
took  solitary  rambles  in  the  immediate  vicinity,  avoid 
ing  the  male  contingent  as  she  would  have  avoided  con 
tagious  disease.  Never,  never,  she  vowed,  would  she 
trust  another  man  as  far  as  she  could  throw  him. 

The  first  Saturday  after  the  Perkins  incident,  Hazel 
went  for  a  tramp  in  the  afternoon.  She  avoided  the 
little  hill  close  at  hand.  It  left  a  bad  taste  in  her 
mouth  to  look  at  the  spot.  This  was  foolish,  and  she 
realized  that  it  was  foolish,  but  she  could  not  help  the 
feeling  —  the  insult  was  still  too  fresh  in  her  mind. 
So  she  skirted  its  base  and  ranged  farther  afield.  The 
few  walks  she  had  taken  had  lulled  all  sense  of  uneasi 
ness  in  venturing  into  the  infolding  forest.  She  felt 
that  those  shadowy  woods  were  less  sinister  than  man. 


68  NORTH    OF    FIFTY-THREE 

And  since  she  had  always  kept  her  sense  of  direction 
and  come  straight  to  the  Meadows  whenever  she  went 
abroad,  she  had  no  fear  or  thought  of  losing  her  way. 

A  mile  or  so  distant  a  bare  spot  high  on  a  wooded 
ridge  struck  her  as  a  likely  place  to  get  an  unobstructed 
view.  To  reach  some  height  and  sit  in  peace,  staring* 
out  over  far-spreading  vistas,  contented  her.  She", 
could  put  away  the  unpleasantness  of  the  immediate 
past,  discount  the  possible  sordidness  of  the  future, 
and  lose  herself  in  dreams. 

To  reach  her  objective  point,  she  crossed  a  long 
stretch  of  rolling  land,  well  timbered,  dense  in  parts 
with  thickets  of  berry  bushes.  Midway  in  this  she 
came  upon  a  little  brook,  purring  a  monotone  as  it 
crawled  over  pebbled  reaches  and  bathed  the  tangled 
roots  of  trees  along  its  brink.  By  this  she  sat  a  while. 
Then  she  idled  along,  coming  after  considerable  diffi 
culty  to  abruptly  rising  ground.  Though  in  the  midst 
of  timber  the  sun  failed  to  penetrate,  she  could  always 
see  it  through  the  branches  and  so  gauge  her  line  of 
travel.  On  the  hillside  it  was  easier,  for  the  forest 
thinned  out.  Eventually  she  gained  a  considerable 
height,  and  while  she  failed  to  reach  the  opening  seen 
from  the  Meadows,  she  found  another  that  served  as 
well.  The  sun  warmed  it,  and  the  sun  rays  were  pleas 
ant  to  bask  in,  for  autumn  drew  close,  and  there  was  a 
coolness  in  the  shade  even  at  noon.  She  could  not  see 
the  town,  but  she  could  mark  the  low  hills  behind  it. 
At  any  rate,  she  knew  where  it  lay,  and  the  way  back. 

So  she  thought.  But  the  short  afternoon  fled,  and, 
Warned  by  the  low  dip  of  the  sun,  she  left  her  nook 


CARIBOO    MEADOWS  69 

on  the  hillside  to  make  her  way  home.  Though  it  was 
near  sundown,  she  felt  no  particular  concern.  The 
long  northern  twilight  gave  her  ample  time  to  cover  the 
distance. 

But  once  down  on  the  rolling  land,  among  the  close- 
ranked  trees,  she  began  to  experience  a  difficulty  that 
had  not  hitherto  troubled  her.  With  the  sun  hanging 
low,  she  lost  her  absolute  certainty  of  east  and  west, 
north  and  south.  The  forest  seemed  suddenly  to  grow 
confusingly  dim  and  gloomier,  almost  menacing  in 
its  uncanny  evening  silence.  The  birds  were  hushed, 
and  the  wind. 

She  blundered  on,  not  admitting  to  herself  the  possi 
bility  of  being  unable  to  find  Cariboo  Meadows.  As 
best  she  could,  and  to  the  best  of  her  belief,  she  held  in 
a  straight  line  for  the  town.  But  she  walked  far 
enough  to  have  overrun  it,  and  was  yet  upon  unfamiliar 
ground.  The  twilight  deepened.  The  sky  above 
showed  turquoise  blue  between  the  tall  tree-tops,  but  the 
woods  themselves  grew  blurred,  dusky  at  a  little  dis 
tance  ahead.  Even  to  a  seasoned  woodsman,  twilight 
in  a  timbered  country  that  he  does  not  know  brings 
confusion ;  uncertainty  leads  him  far  wide  of  his  mark. 
Hazel,  all  unused  to  woods  travel,  hurried  the  more, 
uneasy  with  the  growing  conviction  that  she  had  gone 
astray. 

The  shadows  deepened  until  she  tripped  over  roots 
and  stones,  and  snagged  her  hair  and  clothing  on 
branches  she  could  not  see  in  time  to  fend  off.  As  a 
last  resort,  she  turned  straight  for  the  light  patch  still 
showing  in  the  northwest,  hoping  thus  to  cross  the 


70  NORTH    OF   FIFTY-THREE 

wagon  road  that  ran  from  Soda  Creek  to  the  Meadows 

—  it  lay  west,  and  she  had  gone  northeast  from  town. 
And  as  she  hurried,  a  fear  began  to  tug  at  her  that  she 
had  passed  the  Meadows  unknowingly.     If  she  could 
only  cross  a  trail  —  trails  always  led  somewhere,  and 
she  was  going  it  blind.     The  immensity  of  the  unpeo 
pled  areas  she  had  been  looking  out  over  for  a  week 
appalled  her. 

Presently  it  was  dark,  and  darkness  in  the  woods  is 
the  darkness  of  the  pit  itself.  She  found  a  fallen  tree, 
and  climbed  on  it  to  rest  and  think.  Night  in  gloomy 
places  brings  an  eerie  feeling  sometimes  to  the  bravest 

—  dormant  sense  impressions,  running  back  to  the  cave 
age  and  beyond,  become   active,  harry  the  mind  with 
subtle,  unreasoning  qualms  —  and  she  was  a  girl,  brave 
enough,  but  out  of  the  only  environment  she  knew  how 
to    grapple    with.     All    the    fearsome    tales    of    forest 
beasts  she  had  ever  heard  rose  up  to  harass  her.      She 
had  not  lifted  up  her  voice  while  it  was  light  because 
she  was  not  the  timid  soul  that  cries  in  the  face  of  a 
threatened  danger.     Also  because  she  would  not  then 
admit  the  possibility  of  getting  lost.     And  now  she  was 
afraid  to   call.     She  huddled  on  the  log,   shuddering 
with  the  growing  chill  of  the  night  air,  partly  with  dread 
of  the  long,  black  night  itself  that  walled  her  in.     She 
had  no  matches  to  light  a  fire. 

After  what  seemed  an  age,  she  fancied  she  saw  a 
gleam  far  distant  in  the  timber.  She  watched  the  spot 
fixedly,  and  thought  she  saw  the  faint  reflection  of  a 
light.  That  heartened  her.  She  advanced  toward  its 
hoping  that  it  might  be  the  gleam  of  a  ranch  window. 


CARIBOO    MEADOWS  71 

Her  progress  was  slow.  She  blundered  over  the  litter 
of  a  forest  floor,  tripping  over  unseen  obstacles.  But 
ten  minutes  established  beyond  peradventure  the  fact 
that  it  was  indeed  a  light.  Whether  a  house  light  or 
the  reflection  of  a  camp  fire  she  was  not  woodwise 
enough  to  tell.  But  a  fire  must  mean  human  beings 
of  one  sort  or  another,  and  thereby  a  means  to  reach 
home. 

She  kept  on.  The  wavering  gleam  came  from  behind 
a  thicket  —  an  open  fire,  she  saw  at  length.  Beyond 
the  fire  she  heard  a  horse  sneeze.  Within  a  few  yards 
of  the  thicket  through  which  wavered  the  yellow  gleam 
she  halted,  smitten  with  a  sudden  panic.  This  endured 
but  a  few  seconds.  All  that  she  knew  or  had  been  told 
of  frontier  men  reassured  her.  She  had  found  them  to 
a  man  courteous,  awkwardly  considerate.  And  she 
could  not  wander  about  all  night. 

She  moved  cautiously,  however,  to  the  edge  of  the 
thicket,  to  a  point  where  she  could  see  the  fire.  A  man 
sat  humped  over  the  glowing  embers,  whereon  sizzled  a 
piece  of  meat.  His  head  was  bent  forward,  as  if  he 
were  listening.  Suddenly  he  looked  up,  and  she  gasped 
—  for  the  firelight  showed  the  features  of  Roaring  Bill 
Wagstaff. 

She  was  afraid  of  him.  Why  she  did  not  know  nor 
stop  to  reason.  But  her  fear  of  him  was  greater  than 
her  fear  of  the  pitch-black  night  and  the  unknown  dan 
gers  of  the  forest.  She  turned  to  retreat.  In  the 
same  instant  Roaring  Bill  reached  to  his  rifle  and 
stood  up. 

"  Hold  on  there !  "  he  said  coolly.     "  You've  had  a 


72  NORTH 'OF    FIFTY-THREE 

look  at  me  —  I  want  a  look  at  you,  old  feller,  whoever 
you  are.  Come  on  —  show  yourself." 

He  stepped  sidewise  out  of  the  light  as  he  spoke. 
Hazel  started  to  run.  The  crack  of  a  branch  under 
foot  betrayed  her,  and  he  closed  in  before  she  took  three 
steps.  He  caught  her  rudely  by  the  arm,  and  yanked 
her  bodily  into  the  firelight.  ^ 

"  Well  —  for  the  —  love  of  —  Mike !  " 

Wagstaff  drawled  the  exclamation  out  In  a  rising 
crescendo  of  astonishment.  Then  he  laid  his  gun  down 
across  a  roll  of  bedding,  and  stood  looking  at  her  in 
speechless  wonder. 


CHAPTER  VII 

A    DIFFERENT    SORT    OF    MAN 

• 

"  For  the  love  of  Mike ! "  Roaring  Bill  said  again. 
"  What  are  you  doing  wandering  around  in  the  woods 
at  night?  Good  Lord!  Your  teeth  are  chattering. 
Sit  down  here  and  get  warm.  It  is  sort  of  chilly." 

Even  in  her  fear,  born  of  the  night,  the  circum 
stances,  and  partly  of  the  man,  Hazel  noticed  that  his 
speech  was  of  a  different  order  from  that  to  which  she 
had  been  listening  the  past  ten  days.  His  enunciation 
was  perfect.  He  dropped  no  word  endings,  nor  slurred 
his  syllables.  And  cast  in  so  odd  a  mold  is  the  mind 
of  civilized  woman  that  the  small  matter  of  a  little  re 
finement  of  speech  put  Hazel  Weir  more  at  her  ease 
than  a  volume  of  explanation  or  protest  on  his  part 
would  have  done.  She  had  pictured  him  a  ruffian  in 
thought,  speech,  and  deed.  His  language  cleared  him 
on  one  count,  and  she  observed  that  almost  his  first 
thought  was  for  her  comfort,  albeit  he  made  no  sort  of 
apology  for  handling  her  so  roughly  in  the  gloom  be 
yond  the  fire. 

"  I  got  lost,"  she  explained,  growing  suddenly  calm. 
"  I  was  out  walking,  and  lost  my  way." 

"  Easy  thing  to  do  when  you  don't  know  timber," 
Bill  remarked.  "  And  in  consequence  you  haven't  had 
any  supper ;  you've  been  scared  almost  to  death  —  and 


74  NORTH    OF   FIFTY-THREE 

probably  all  of  Cariboo  Meadows  is  out  looking  f 
you.  Well,  you've  had  an  adventure.  That's  wo: 
something.  Better  eat  a  bite,  and  you'll  feel  bette; 

He  turned  over  the  piece  of  meat  on  the  coals  whi 
he  spoke.  Hazel  saw  that  it  lay  on  two  green  sticks, 
like  a  steak  on  a  gridiron.  It  was  quite  simple,  but 
she  would  never  have  thought  of  that.  The  meat  ex 
haled  savory  odors.  Also,  the  warmth  of  the  fire  seemed 
good.  But  — 

"  I'd  rather  be  home,"  she  confessed. 

"  Sure !  I  guess  you  would  —  naturally.  I'll  see 
that  you  get  there,  though  it  won't  be  easy.  It's  no 
snap  to  travel  these  woods  in  the  dark.  You  couldn't 
have  been  so  far  from  the  Meadows.  How  did  it  come 
you  didn't  yell  once  in  a  while?  " 

"  I  didn't  think  it  was  necessary,"  Hazel  admitted, 
"  until  it  began  to  get  dark.  And  then  I  didn't 
like  to." 

"  You  got  afraid,"  Roaring  Bill  supplied.  "  Well, 
it  does  sound  creepy  to  holler  in  the  timber  after  night. 
I  know  how  that  goes.  I've  made  noises  after  night 
that  scared  myself." 

He  dug  some  utensils  out  of  his  pack  layout  —  two 
plates,  knife,  fork,  and  spoons,  and  laid  them  by  the 
fire.  Opposite  the  meat  a  pot  of  water  bubbled.  Roar 
ing  Bill  produced  a  small  tin  bucket,  black  with  the 
smoke  of  many  an  open  fire,  and  a  package,  and  made 
coffee.  Then  he  spread  a  canvas  sheet,  and  laid  on  that 
bread,  butter,  salt,  a  jar  of  preserved  fruit. 

"  How  far  is  it  to  Cariboo  Meadows  ?  "  Hazel  askeid. 

Bill  looked  up  from  his  supper  preparations. 


A   DIFFERENT    SORT    OF   MAN        75 

ft  You've  got  me,"  he  returned  carelessly.     "  Prob- 

!.y  four  or  five  miles.     I'm  not  positive;  I've  been 

hning  in  circles  myself  this  afternoon.* 
J  "  Good    heavens ! "    Hazel    exclaimed.     "  But    you 
know  the  way?  " 

"  Like  a  book  —  in  the  daytime,"  he  replied.  "  But 
night  in  the  timber  is  another  story,  as  you've  just 
been  finding  out  for  yourself." 

"  I  thought  men  accustomed  to  the  wilderness  could 
always  find  their  way  about,  day  or  night,"  Hazel  ob 
served  tartly. 

"  They  can  —  in  stories,"  Bill  answered  dryly. 

He  resumed  his  arranging  of  the  food  while  she  di 
gested  this.  Presently  he  sat  down  beside  the  fire,  and 
while  he  turned  the  meat  with  a  forked  stick,  came  back 
to  the  subject  again. 

"  You  see,  I'm  away  off  any  trail  here,"  he  said^ 
"  and  it's  all  woods,  with  only  a  little  patch  of  open 
here  and  there.  It's  pure  accident  I  happen  to  be  here 
at  all;  accident  which  comes  of  unadulterated  cussed- 
ness  on  the  part  of  one  of  my  horses.  I  left  the  Mead 
ows  at  noon,  and  Nigger  —  that's  this  confounded 
cayuse  of  mine  —  he  had  to  get  scared  and  take  to  the 
brush.  He  got  plumb  away  from  me,  and  I  had  to 
track  him.  I  didn't  come  up  with  him  till  dusk,  and 
then  the  first  good  place  I  struck,  which  was  here,  I 
made  camp.  I  was  all  for  catching  that  horse,  so  I 
didn't  pay  much  attention  to  where  I  was  going. 
Didn't  need  to,  because  I  know  the  country  well  enough 
to  get  anywhere  in  daylight,  and  I'm  fixed  to  camp 
wherever  night  overtakes  me.  So  I'm  not  dead  sure  of 


?6  NORTH    OF    FIFTY-THREE 

my  ground.  But  you  don't  need  to  worry  on  that  ac 
count.  I'll  get  you  home  all  right.  Only  it'll  be  mean 
traveling  —  and  slow  —  unless  we  happen  to  bump  into 
some  of  those  fellows  out  looking  for  you.  They'd 
surely  start  out  when  you  didn't  come  home  at  dusk ; 
they  know  it  isn't  any  joke  for  a  girl  to  get  lost  in 
these  woods.  I've  known  men  to  get  badly  turned 
round  right  in  this  same  country.  Well,  sit  up  and  eat 
a  bite." 

She  had  to  be  satisfied  with  his  assurance  that  he 
would  see  her  to  Cariboo  Meadows.  And,  accepting 
the  situation  with  what  philosophy  she  could  command, 
Hazel  proceeded  to  fall  to  —  and  soon  discovered  her 
self  relishing  the  food  more  than  any  meal  she  had  eaten 
for  a  long  time.  Hunger  is  the  king  of  appetizers,  and 
food  cooked  in  the  open  has  a  flavor  of  its  own  which 
no  aproned  chef  can  duplicate.  Roaring  Bill  put  half 
the  piece  of  meat  on  her  plate,  sliced  bread  for  her, 
and  set  the  butter  handy.  Also,  he  poured  her  a  cup 
of  coffee.  He  had  a  small  sack  of  sugar,  and  his  pack 
boxes  yielded  condensed  milk. 

"  Maybe  you'd  rather  have  tea,"  he  said.  "  I  didn't 
think  to  ask  you.  Most  Canadians  don't  drink  any 
thing  else." 

"  No,  thanks.     I  bice  coffee,"  Hazel  replied. 

"  You're  not  a  true-blue  Canuck,  then,"  Bill  ob 
served. 

"  Indeed,  I  am,"  she  declared.  "  Aren't  you  a  Cana 
dian?" 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  that  the  mere  accident  of  birth 
in  some  particular  locality  makes  any  difference,"  he 


A   DIFFERENT    SORT    OF   MAN        77 

answered.  "  But  I'm  a  lot  shy  of  being  a  Canadian, 
though  I've  been  in  this  country  a  long  time.  I  was 
born  in  Chicago,  the  smokiest,  windiest  old  burg  in  the 
United  States." 

"  It's  a  big  place,  isn't  it?  "  Hazel  kept  the  con 
versation  going.  "  I  don't  know  any  of  the  American 
cities,  but  I  have  a  girl  friend  working  in  a  Chicago 
office." 

"  Yes,  it's  big  —  big  and  noisy  and  dirty,  and  full  of 
wrecks  —  human  derelicts  in  an  industrial  Sargasso 
Sea  —  like  all  big  cities  the  world  over.  I  don't 
like  'em." 

Wagstaff  spoke  casually,  as  much  to  himself  as  to 
her,  and  he  did  not  pursue  the  subject,  but  began  his 
meal. 

"  What  sort  of  meat  is  this  ?  "  Hazel  asked  after  a 
few  minutes  of  silence.  It  was  fine-grained  and  of  a 
rich  flavor  strange  to  her  mouth.  She  liked  it,  but  it 
was  neither  beef,  pork,  nor  mutton,  nor  any  meat  she 
knew. 

"Venison.  Didn't  you  ever  eat  any  before?"  he 
smiled. 

"  Never  tasted  it,"  she  answered.  "  Isn't  it  nice? 
No,  I've  read  of  hunters  cooking  venison  over  an  open 
fire,  but  this  is  my  first  taste.  Indeed,  I've  never  seen 
a  real  camp  fire  before." 

"  Lord  —  what  a  lot  you've  missed !  "  There  was 
real  pity  in  his  tone.  "  I  killed  that  deer  to-day.  In 
fact,  the  little  circus  I  had  with  Mr.  Buck  was  what 
started  Nigger  off  into  the  brush.  Have  some  more 
coffee.  " 


78  NORTH   OF   FIFTY-THREE 

He  refilled  her  tin  cup,  and  devoted  himself  to  his 
food.  Before  long  they  had  satisfied  their  hunger. 
Bill  laid  a  few  dry  sticks  on  the  fire.  The  flames  laid 
hold  of  them  and  shot  up  in  bright,  wavering  tongues. 
'It  seemed  to  Hazel  that  she  had  stepped  utterly  out  of 
her  world.  Cariboo  Meadows,  the  schoolhouse,  and 
her  classes  seemed  remote.  She  found  herself  wishing 
she  were  a  man,  so  that  she  could  fare  into  the  wilds 
with  horses  and  a  gun  in  this  capable  man  fashion, 
where  routine  went  by  the  board  and  the  unexpected 
hovered  always  close  at  hand.  She  looked  up  suddenly, 
to  find  him  regarding  her  with  a  whimsical  smile. 

"  In  a  few  minutes,"  said  he,  "  I'll  pack  up  and  try 
to  deliver  you  as  per  contract.  Meantime,  I'm  going  to 
smoke." 

He  did  not  ask  her  permission,  but  filled  his  pipe  and 
lighted  it  with  a  coal.  And  for  the  succeeding  fifteen 
minutes  Roaring  Bill  Wagstaff  sat  staring  into  the 
dancing  blaze.  Once  or  twice  he  glanced  at  her,  and 
when  he  did  the  same  whimsical  smile  would  flit  across 
his  face.  Hazel  watched  him  uneasily  after  a  time. 
He  seemed  to  have  forgotten  her.  His  pipe  died,  and 
he  sat  holding  it  in  his  hand.  She  was  uneasy,  but  not 
afraid.  There  was  nothing  about  him  or  his  actions 
to  make  her  fear.  On  the  contrary,  Roaring  Bill  at 
close  quarters  inspired  confidence.  Why  she  could  not 
and  did  not  attempt  to  determine,  psychological  analy 
sis  being  rather  out  of  her  line. 

Physically,  however,  Roaring  Bill  measured  up  to  a 
high  standard.  He  was  young,  probably  twenty-seven 
or  thereabouts.  The^e  was  power  —  plenty  of  it  —  in 


A    DIFFERENT    SORT    OF   MAN        79 

the  wide  shoulders  and  deep  chest  of  him,  with  arms  in 
proportion.  His  hands,  while  smooth  on  the  backs  and 
well  cared  for,  showed  when  he  exposed  the  palms  the 
callouses  of  ax  handling.  And  his  face  was  likable, 
she  decided,  full  of  character,  intensely  masculine.  In 
her  heart  every  woman  despises  any  hint  of  the  effem 
inate  in  man.  Even  though  she  may  decry  what  she  is 
pleased  to  term  the  brute  in  man,  whenever  he  discards 
the  dominant,  overmastering  characteristics  of  the  male 
she  will  have  none  of  him.  Miss  Hazel  Weir  was  no 
exception  to  her  sex. 

Consciously  or  otherwise  she  took  stock  of  Bill  Wag- 
staff.  She  knew  him  to  be  in  bad  odor  with  Cariboo 
Meadows  for  some  unknown  reason.  She  had  seen  him 
fight  in  the  street,  knock  a  man  unconscious  with  his 
fists.  According  to  her  conceptions  of  behavior  that 
was  brutal  and  vulgar.  Drinking  came  under  the  same 
head,  and  she  had  Jim  Briggs'  word  that  Bill  Wagstaff 
not  only  got  drunk,  but  was  a  "  holy  terror  "  when  in 
that  condition.  Yet  she  could  not  quite  associate  the 
twin  traits  of  brutality  and  vulgarity  with  the  man 
sitting  close  by  with  that  thoughtful  look  on  his  face. 
His  speech  stamped  him  as  a  man  of  education ;  every 
line  of  him  showed  breeding  in  all  that  the  word  implies. 

Nevertheless,  he  was  "  tough."  And  she  had  gath 
ered  enough  of  the  West's  wide  liberality  of  view  in  re 
gard  to  personal  conduct  to  know  that  Roaring  Bill 
Wagstaff  must  be  a  hard  citizen  indeed  to  be  practi 
cally  ostracized  in  a  place  like  Cariboo  Meadows. 
She  wondered  what  Cariboo  Meadows  would  say  if  it 
could  see  her  sitting  by  Bill  Wagstaff's  fire  at  nine  in 


8o  NORTH    OF    FIFTY-THREE 

the  evening  in  the  heart  of  the  woods.  What  would 
they  say  when  he  piloted  her  home? 

In  the  midst  of  her  reflections  Roaring  Bill  got  up. 

"  Well,  we'll  make  a  move,"  he  said,  and  disappeared 
abruptly  into  the  dark. 

She  heard  him  moving  around  at  some  distance. 
Presently  he  was  back,  leading  three  horses.  One  he 
saddled.  The  other  two  he  rigged  with  his  pack  outfit, 
storing  his  varied  belongings  in  two  pair  of  kyaks,  and 
loading  kyaks  and  bedding  on  the  horses  with  a  deft 
speed  that  bespoke  long  practice.  He  was  too  busy  to 
talk,  and  Hazel  sat  beside  the  fire,  watching  in  silence. 
When  he  had  tucked  up  the  last  rope  end,  he  turned  to 
her. 

"  There,"  he  said ;  "  we're  ready  to  hit  the  trail. 
Can  you  ride?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  Hazel  answered  dubiously.  "  I 
never  have  ridden  a  horse." 

"  My,  my !  "  he  smiled.  "  Your  education  has  been 
sadly  neglected  —  and  you  a  schoolma'am,  too !  " 

"  My  walking  education  hasn't  been  neglected,"  Hazel 
retorted.  "  I  don't  need  to  ride,  thank  you." 

"  Yes,  and  stub  your  toe  and  fall  down  every  ten 
feet,"  Bill  observed.  "  No,  Miss  Weir,  your  first  lesson 
m  horsemanship  is  now  due  —  if  you  aren't  afraid  of 
horses." 

"  I'm  not  afraid  of  horses  at  all,"  Hazel  declared. 
"  But  I  don't  think  it's  a  very  good  place  to  take  rid 
ing  lessons.  I  can  just  as  well  walk,  for  I'm  not  in  the 
least  afraid."  And  then  she  added  as  an  afterthought: 
"  How  do  you  happen  to  know  my  name  ?  " 


A   DIFFERENT   SORT   OF   MAN        81 

"  In  the  same  way  that  you  know  mine,"  Bill  replied, 
"  even  if  you  haven't  mentioned  it  yet.  Lord  bless  you, 
do  you  suppose  Cariboo  Meadows  could  import  a  lady 
school-teacher  from  the  civilized  East  without  every 
body  in  fifty  miles  knowing  who  she  was,  and  where  she 
came  from,  and  what  she  looked  like?  You  furnished 
them  a  subject  for  conversation  and  speculation  —  the 
same  as  I  do  when  I  drop  in  there  and  whoop  it  up  for 
a  while.  I  guess  you  don't  realize  what  old  granny 
gossips  we  wild  Westerners  are.  Especially  where  girls 
are  concerned." 

Hazel  stiffened  a  trifle.  She  did  not  like  thejdea 
of  Cariboo  Meadows  discussing  her  with  such  freedom. 
She  was  becoming  sensitive  on  that  subject  —  since  the 
coming  and  going  of  Mr.  Howard  Perkins,  for  she  felt 
that  they  were  considering  her  from  an  angle  that  she 
did  not  relish.  She  wondered  also  if  Roaring  Bill  Wag- 
staff  had  heard  that  gossip.  And  if  he  had  —  At  any 
rate,  she  could  not  accuse  him  of  being  impertinent 
or  curious  in  so  far  as  she  was  concerned.  After  the 
first  look  and  exclamation  of  amazement  he  had  taken 
her  as  a  matter  of  course.  If  anything,  his  personal 
attitude  was  tinctured  with  indifference. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  we  won't  argue  the  point." 

He  disappeared  into  the  dark  again.  This  time  he 
came  back  with  the  crown  of  his  hat  full  of  water, 
which  he  sprinkled  over  the  dwindling  fire.  As  the  red 
glow  of  the  embers  faded  in  a  sputter  of  steam  and 
ashes,  Hazel  realized  more  profoundly  the  blackness  of 
a  cloudy  night  in  the  woods.  Until  her  eyes  accus 
tomed  themselves  to  the  transition  from  firelight  to  the 


82  NORTH   OF   FIFTY-THREE 

gloom,  she  could  see  nothing  but  vague  shapes  that 
she  knew  to  be  the  horses,  and  another  dim,  moving 
object  that  was  Bill  Wagstaff.  Beyond  that  the  inky 
canopy  above  and  the  forest  surrounding  seemed  a 
solid  wall. 

"  It's  going  to  be  nasty  traveling,  Miss  Weir,"  Roar 
ing  Bill  spoke  at  her  elbow.  "  I'll  walk  and  lead  the 
packs.  You  ride  Silk.  He's  gentle.  All  you  have  to 
do  is  sit  still,  and  he'll  stay  right  behind  the  packs. 
I'll  help  you  mount." 

If  Hazel  had  still  been  inclined  to  insist  on  walking, 
she  had  no  chance  to  debate  the  question.  Bill  took  her 
by  the  arm  and  led  her  up  beside  the  horse.  It  was  a 
unique  experience  for  her,  this  being  compelled  to  do 
things.  No  man  had  ever  issued  ultimatums  to  her. 
Even  Jack  Barrow,  with  all  an  accepted  lover's  privi 
leges,  had  never  calmly  told  her  that  she  must  do  thus 
and  so,  and  acted  on  the  supposition  that  his  word  was 
final.  But  here  was  Roaring  Bill  Wagstaff  telling  her 
how  to  put  her  foot  in  the  stirrup,  putting  her  for  the 
first  time  in  her  life  astride  a  horse,  warning  her  to 
duck  low  branches.  In  his  mind  there  seemed  to  be  no 
question  as  whether  or  not  she  would  ride.  He  had 
'settled  that. 

Unused  to  mounting,  she  blundered  at  the  first  at 
tempt,  and  flushed  in  the  dark  at  Bill's  amused  chuckle. 
The  next  instant  he  caught  her  under  the  arms,  and, 
with  the  leverage  of  her  one  foot  in  the  stirrup,  set  her 
gently  in  the  seat  of  the  saddle. 

"  You're  such  a  little  person,"  he  said,  "  these  stir 
rups  are  a  mile  too  long.  Put  your  feet  in  the  leather 


A   DIFFERENT   SORT   OF   MAN        83 

above  —  so.  Now  play  follow  your  leader.  Give  Silk 
his  head." 

He  moved  away.  The  blurred  shapes  of  the  pack 
horses  forged  ahead,  rustling  in  the  dry  grass,  dry 
twigs  snapping  under  foot.  Obedient  to  Bill's  com 
mand,  she  let  the  reins  dangle,  and  Silk  followed  close 
behind  his  mates.  Hazel  lurched  unsteadily  at  first, 
but  presently  she  caught  the  swinging  motion  and  could 
maintain  her  balance  without  holding  stiffly  to  the  sad 
dle  horn. 

They  crossed  the  small  meadow  and  plunged  into 
thick  woods  again.  For  the  greater  part  of  the  way 
Hazel  could  see  nothing;  she  could  tell  that  Wagstaff 
and  the  pack  horses  moved  before  her  by  the  sounds  of 
their  progress,  and  that  was  all.  Now  and  then  low- 
hanging  limbs  reached  suddenly  out  of  the  dark,  and 
touched  her  with  unseen  fingers,  or  swept  rudely  across 
her  face  and  hair. 

The  night  seemed  endless  as  the  wilderness  itself. 
Unused  to  riding,  she  became  sore,  and  then  the  sore 
muscles  stiffened.  The  chill  of  the  night  air  intensified. 
She  grew  cold,  her  fingers  numb.  She  did  not  know 
where  she  was  going,  and  she  was  assailed  with  doubts 
of  Roaring  Bill's  ability  to  find  Cariboo  Meadows. 

For  what  seemed  to  her  an  interminable  length  of 
time  they  bore  slowly  on  through  timber,  crossed  open 
ings  where  the  murk  of  the  night  thinned  a  little,  en 
abling  her  to  see  the  dim  form  of  Wagstaff  plodding  in 
the  lead.  Again  they  dipped  down  steep  slopes  and 
ascended  others  as  steep,  where  Silk  was  forced  to 
scramble,  and  Hazel  kept  a  precarious  seat.  She  be- 


84  NORTH    OF    FIFTY-THREE 

gan  to  feel,  with  an  odd  heart  sinking,  that  sufficient 
time  had  elapsed  for  them  to  reach  the  Meadows,  even 
by  a  roundabout  way.  Then,  as  they  crossed  a  tiny, 
gurgling  stream,  and  came  upon  a  level  place  beyond, 
Silk  bumped  into  the  other  horses  and  stopped.  Hazel 
hesitated  a  second.  There  was  no  sound  of  movement. 

"  Mr.  Wagstaff!  "  she  called. 

"  Yours  truly,'*  his  voice  hailed  back,  away  to  one 
side.  "  Pll  be  there  in  a  minute." 

In  less  time  he  appeared  beside  her. 

"  Will  you  fall  off,  or  be  lifted  off?  "  He  said  cheer- 
fully. 

"  Where  are  we?  "  she  demanded. 

"  Ask  me  something  easy,"  he  returned.  "  I've  been 
going  it  blind  for  an  hour,  trying  to  hit  the  Soda  Creek 
Trail,  or  any  old  trail  that  would  show  me  where  I  am. 
It's  no  use.  Too  dark.  A  man  couldn't  find  his  way 
over  country  that  he  knew  to-night  if  he  had  a  lantern 
and  a  compass." 

"  What  on  earth  am  I  going  to  do  ?  "  Hazel  cried 
desperately. 

"  Camp  here  till  daylight,"  Roaring  Bill  answered 
evenly.  "  The  only  thing  you  can  do.  Good  Lord !  " 
His  hand  accidentally  rested  on  hers.  "  You're  like 
ice.  I  didn't  think  about  you  getting  cold  riding.  I'm 
a  mighty  thoughtless  escort,  I'm  afraid.  Get  down' 
and  put  on  a  coat,  and  I'll  have  a  fire  in  a  minute." 

"  I  suppose  if  I  must,  I  must ;  but  I  can  get  off  with 
out  any  help,  thank  you,"  Hazel  answered  ungraciously. 

Roaring  Bill  made  no  reply,  but  stood  back,  and 
when  her  feet  touched  solid  earth  he  threw  over  her 


A    DIFFERENT    SORT    OF   MAN        85 

shoulders  the  coat  he  had  worn  himself.  Then  he 
turned  away,  and  Hazel  saw  him  stooping  here  and 
there,  and  heard  the  crack  of  dry  sticks  broken  over 
his  knee.  In  no  time  he  was  back  to  the  horses  with 
an  armful  of  dry  stuff,  and  had  a  small  blaze  licking  up 
through  dry  grass  and  twigs.  As  it  grew  he  piled  on 
larger  sticks  till  the  bright  flame  waved  two  feet  high, 
lighting  up  the  near-by  woods  and  shedding  a  bright 
glow  on  the  three  horses  standing  patiently  at  hand. 
He  paid  no  attention  to  Hazel  until  she  came  timidly 
up  to  the  fire.  Then  he  looked  up  at  her  with  his 
whimsical  smile. 

"  That's  right,"  he  said ;  "  come  on  and  get  warm. 
No  use  worrying  —  or  getting  cross.  I  suppose  from 
your  civilized,  conventional  point  of  view  it's  a  terrible 
thing  to  be  out  in  the  woods  all  night  alone  with  a 
strange  man.  But  I'm  not  a  bear  —  I  won't  eat  you." 

"  I'm  sorry  if  I  seemed  rude,"  Hazel  said  penitently ; 
Roaring  Bill's  statement  was  reassuring  in  its  frank 
ness.  "  I  can't  help  thinking  of  the  disagreeable  side  of 
it.  People  talk  so.  I  suppose  I'll  be  a  nine  days' 
wonder  in  Cariboo  Meadows." 

Bill  laughed  softly. 

"  Let  them  take  it  out  in  wondering,"  he  advised. 
"  Cariboo  Meadows  is  a  very  small  and  insignificant 
portion  of  the  world,  anyway." 

He  went  to  one  of  the  packs,  and  came  back  with  a 
canvas  cover,  which  he  spread  on  the  ground. 

"  Sit  on  that,"  he  said.  "  The  earth's  always  damp 
in  the  woods." 

Then  he  stripped  the  horses  of  their  burdens  and  tied 


86  NORTH    OF    FIFTY-THREE 

them  out  of  sight  among  the  trees.  That  task  finished, 
he  took  his  ax  and  rustled  a  pile  of  wood,  dragging  dead 
poles  up  to  the  fire  and  chopping  them  into  short 
lengths.  When  finally  he  laid  aside  his  ax,  he  busied 
himself  with  gathering  grass  and  leaves  and  pine  nee 
dles  until  he  had  several  armfuls  collected  and  spread 
in  an  even  pile  to  serve  as  a  mattress.  Upon  this  he 
laid  his  bedding,  two  thick  quilts,  two  or  three  pairs  of 
woolen  blankets,  a  pillow,  the  whole  inclosed  with  a  long 
canvas  sheet,  the  bed  tarpaulin  of  the  cattle  ranges. 

"  There,"  he  said ;  "  you  can  turn  in  whenever  you 
feel  like  it." 

For  himself  he  took  the  saddle  blankets  and  laid 
them  close  by  the  fire  within  reaching  distance  of  the 
woodpile,  taking  for  cover  a  pack  canvas.  He  stretched 
himself  full  length,  filled  his  pipe,  lit  it,  and  fell  to  star 
ing  into  the  fire  while  he  smoked. 

Half  an  hour  later  he  raised  his  head  and  looked 
across  the  fire  at  Hazel. 

"  Why  don't  you  go  to  bed  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I'm  not  sleepy,"  she  declared,  which  was  a  palpable 
falsehood,  for  her  eyelids  were  even  then  drooping. 

"  Maybe  not,  but  you  need  rest,"  Bill  said  quietly. 
"  Quit  thinking  things.  It'll  be  all  the  same  a  hundred 
years  from  now.  Go  on  to  bed.  You'll  be  more  com 
fortable." 

Thus  peremptorily  commanded,  Hazel  found  herself 
granting  instant  obedience.  The  bed,  as  Bill  had  re 
marked,  was  far  more  comfortable  than  sitting  by  the 
fire.  She  got  into  the  blankets  just  as  she  stood,  even 
to  her  shoes,  and  drew  the  canvas  sheet  up  so  that  it 


A    DIFFERENT    SORT    OF   MAN        87 

hid  her  face  —  but  did  not  prevent  her  from  seeing. 

In  spite  of  herself,  she  slept  fitfully.  Now  and  then 
she  would  wake  with  a  start  to  a  half-frightened  real 
ization  of  her  surroundings  and  plight,  and  whenever 
she  did  wake  and  look  past  the  fire  it  was  to  see  Roar 
ing  Bill  Wagstaff  stretched  out  in  the  red  glow,  his 
brown  head  pillowed  en  one  folded  arm.  Once  she  saw 
him  reach  to  the  wood  without  moving  his  body  and  lay 
a  stick  on  the  fire. 

Then  all  at  once  she  wakened  out  of  sound  slumber 
with  a  violent  start.  Roaring  Bill  was  shaking  the  tar 
paulin  over  her  and  laughing. 

"  Arise,  Miss  Sleeping  Beauty ! "  he  said  boyishly. 
**  Breakfast's  ready." 

He  went  back  to  the  fire.  Hazel  sat  up,  patting  her 
tousled  hair  into  some  semblance  of  order.  Off  in  the 
east  a  reddish  streak  spread  skyward  into  somber  gray. 
In  the  west,  black  night  gave  ground  slowly. 

"  Well,  it's  another  day,"  she  whispered,  as  she  had 
whispered  to  herself  once  before.  "  I  wonder  if  there 
srill  ever  be  any  more  like  it?  " 


CHAPTER  VIII 

IN    DEEP    WATER 

The  dawn  thrust  aside  night's  somber  curtains  while 
they  ate,  revealing  a  sky  overcast  with  slaty  clouds. 
What  with  her  wanderings  of  the  night  before  and  the 
journey  through  the  dark  with  Roaring  Bill,  she  had 
absolutely  no  idea  of  either  direction  or  locality.  The 
infolding  timber  shut  off  the  outlook.  Forest-clad 
heights  upreared  here  and  there,  but  no  landmark  that 
she  could  place  and  use  for  a  guide.  She  could  not 
guess  whether  Cariboo  Meadows  was  a  mile  distant,  or 
ten,  nor  in  what  direction  it  might  lie.  If  she  had  not 
done  so  before,  she  now  understood  how  much  she  had  to 
depend  on  Roaring  Bill  Wagstaff. 

"  Do  you  suppose  I  can  get  home  in  time  to  open 
school  ?  "  she  inquired  anxiously. 

Roaring  Bill  smiled.  "  I  don't  know,"  he  answered. 
"  It  all  depends." 

Upon  what  it  depended  he  did  not  specify,  but  busied 
himself  packing  up.  In  half  an  hour  or  less  they  were 
ready  to  start.  Bill  spent  a  few  minutes  longer  short 
ening  the  stirrups,  then  signified  that  she  should  mount,, 
He  seemed  more  thoughtful,  less  inclined  to  speech. 

"  You  know  where  you  are  now,  don't  you  ?  "  she 
asked. 


IN    DEEP   WATER  89 

"  Not  exactly,"  he  responded.  "  But  I  will  before 
long  —  I  hope." 

The  ambiguity  of  his  answer  did  not  escape  her. 
She  puzzled  over  it  while  Silk  ambled  sedately  behind 
the  other  horses.  She  hoped  that  Bill  Wagstaff  knew 
where  he  was  going.  If  he  did  not  —  but  she  refused 
to  entertain  the  alternative.  And  she  began  to  watch 
eagerly  for  some  sign  of  familiar  ground. 

For  two  hours  Roaring  Bill  tramped  through  aisles 
bordered  with  pine  and  spruce  and  fir,  through  thickets 
of  berry  bush,  and  across  limited  areas  of  grassy 
meadow.  Not  once  did  they  cross  a  road  or  a  trail. 
With  the  clouds  hiding  the  sun,  she  could  not  tell  north 
from  south  after  they  left  camp.  Eventually  Bill 
halted  at  a  small  stream  to  get  a  drink.  Hazel  looked 
at  her  watch.  It  was  half  past  eight. 

"  Aren't  we  ever  going  to  get  there  ?  "  she  called  im 
patiently. 

"  Pretty  soon,"  he  called  back,  and  struck  out 
briskly  again. 

Another  hour  passed.  Ahead  of  her,  leading  one 
pack  horse  and  letting  the  other  follow  untrammeled. 
Roaring  Bill  kept  doggedly  on,  halting  for  nothing, 
never  looking  back.  If  he  did  not  know  where  he  was 
going,  he  showed  no  hesitation.  And  Hazel  had  no 
choice  but  to  follow. 

They  crossed  a  ravine  and  slanted  up  a  steep  hill 
side.  Presently  Hazel  could  look  away  over  an  area 
of  woodland  undulating  like  a  heavy  ground  swell  at 
sea.  Here  and  there  ridges  stood  forth  boldly  above 
the  general  roll,  and  distantly  she  could  descry  a  white- 


go  NORTH    OF    FIFTY-THREE 

capped  mountain  range.  They  turned  the  end  of  a 
thick  patch  of  pine  scrub,  and  Bill  pulled  up  in  a  small 
opening.  From  a  case  swinging  at  his  belt  he  took  out 
a  pair  of  field  glasses,  and  leisurely  surveyed  the  coun- 
try. 

"Well?"  Hazel  interrogated. 

She  herself  had  cast  an  anxious  glance  over  the  wide 
sweep  below  and  beyond,  seeing  nothing  but  timber  and 
hills,  with  the  silver  thread  of  a  creek  winding  serpent- 
wise  through  the  green.  But  of  habitation  or  trail 
there  was  never  a  sign.  And  it  was  after  ten  o'clock. 
They  were  over  four  hours  from  their  camp  ground. 

"  Nothing  in  sight,  is  there?  "  Bill  said  thoughtfully. 
"  If  the  sun  was  out,  now.  Funny  I  can't  spot  that 
Soda  Creek  Trail." 

"Don't  you  know  this  country  at  all?"  she  asked 
gloomily. 

"  I  thought  I  did,"  he  replied.  "  But  I  can't  seen* 
to  get  my  bearings  to  work  out  correctly.  I'm  awfully 
sorry  to  keep  you  in  such  a  pickle.  But  it  can't  be 
helped." 

Thus  he  disarmed  her  for  the  time  being.  She  could 
not  find  fault  with  a  man  who  was  doing  his  best  to  help 
her.  If  Roaring  Bill  were  unable  to  bear  straight  for 
the  Meadows,  it  was  unfortunate  for  her,  but  no  fault 
of  his.  At  the  same  time,  it  troubled  her  more  tha« 
she  would  admit. 

"  Well,  we  won't  get  anywhere  standing  on  this  hill," 
he  remarked  at  length. 

He  took  up  the  lead  rope  and  moved  on.  They 
dropped  over  the  ridge  crest  and  once  more  into  the 


IN    DEEP   WATER  91 

woods.  Roaring  Bill  made  his  next  halt  beside  a 
spring,  and  fell  to  unlashing  the  packs. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do?  "  Hazel  asked. 

"  Cook  a  bite,  and  let  the  horses  graze,"  he  told  her, 
"  Do  you  realize  that  we've  been  going  since  daylight  ? 
It's  near  noon.  Horses  have  to  eat  and  rest  once  in  a 
while,  just  the  same  as  human  beings." 

The  logic  of  this  Hazel  could  not  well  deny,  since  she 
herself  was  tired  and  ravenously  hungry.  By  her 
watch  it  was  just  noon. 

Bill  hobbled  out  his  horses  on  the  grass  below  the 
spring,  made  a  fire,  and  set  to  work  cooking.  For  the 
first  time  the  idea  of  haste  seemed  to  have  taken  hold 
of  him.  He  worked  silently  at  the  meal  getting,  fried 
steaks  of  venison,  and  boiled  a  pot  of  coffee.  They  ate. 
He  filled  his  pipe,  and  smoked  while  he  repacked.  Al 
together,  he  did  not  consume  more  than  forty  minutes 
at  the  noon  halt.  Hazel,  now  woefully  saddle  sore, 
would  fain  have  rested  longer,  and,  in  default  of  rest 
ing,  tried  to  walk  and  lead  Silk.  Roaring  Bill  offered 
no  objection  to  that.  But  he  hit  a  faster  gait.  She 
could  not  keep  up,  and  he  did  not  slacken  pace  when 
she  began  to  fall  behind.  So  she  mounted  awkwardly, 
and  Silk  jolted  and  shook  her  with  his  trotting  until  he 
caught  up  with  his  mates.  Bill  grinned  over  his  shoul 
der. 

"  You're  learning  fast,"  he  called  back.  "  You'll  be 
able  to  run  a  pack  train  by  and  by." 

The  afternoon  wore  on  without  bringing  them  any 
nearer  Cariboo  Meadows  so  far  as  Hazel  could  see. 
Traveling  over  a  country  swathed  in  timber  and  diversi- 


(T  NORTH    OF    FIFTY-THREE 

37  "* 

fied  in  contour,  she  could  not  tell  whether  Roaring  Bill 
swung  in  a  circle  or  bore  straight  for  some  given  point. 
She  speculated  futilely  on  the  outcome  of  the  strange 
plight  she  was  in.  It  was  a  far  cry  from  pounding  a 
typewriter  in  a  city  office  to  jogging  through  the  wil 
derness,  lost  beyond  peradventure,  her  only  company 
a  stranger  of  unsavory  reputation.  Yet  she  was  not 
frightened,  for  all  the  element  of  unreality.  Under 
other  circumstances  she  could  have  relished  the  adven 
ture,  taken  pleasure  in  faring  gypsy  fashion  over  the 
wide  reaches  where  man  had  left  no  mark.  As  it  was  — 

She  called  a  halt  at  four  o'clock. 

"Mr.  Wagstaff!" 

Bill  stopped  his  horses  and  came  back  to  her. 

"  Aren't  we  ever  going  to  get  anywhere?  "  she  asked 
soberly. 

"  Sure !  But  we've  got  to  keep  going.  Got  to  make 
the  best  of  a  bad  job,"  he  returned.  "  Getting  pretty 
tired?" 

"  I  am,"  she  admitted.  "  I'm  afraid  I  can't  ride 
much  longer.  I  could  walk  if  you  wouldn't  go  so  fast. 
Aren't  there  any  ranches  in  this  country  at  all  ?  " 

He  shook  his  head.  "  They're  few  and  far  be 
tween,"  he  said.  "  Don't  worry,  though.  It  isn't  a 
life-and-death  matter.  If  we  were  out  here  without 
grub  or  horses  it  might  be  tough.  You're  in  no  danger 
from  exposure  or  hunger." 

'*  You  don't  seem  to  realize  the  position  it  puts  me 
in,"  Hazel  answered.  A  wave  of  despondency  swept 
over  her,  and  her  eyes  grew  suddenly  bright  with  the 
iears  she  strove  to  keep  back.  "  If  we  wander  around 


IN    DEEP   WATER  93 

In  the  woods  much  longer,  I'll  simply  be  a  sensation 
when  I  do  get  back  to  Cariboo  Meadows.  I  won't  have 
a  shred  of  reputation  left.  It  will  probably  result  in 
my  losing  the  school.  You're  a  man,  and  it's  different 
with  you.  You  can't  know  what  a  girl  has  to  contend 
with  where  no  one  knows  her.  I'm  a  stranger  in  this 
country,  and  what  little  they  do  know  of  me  — " 

She  stopped  short,  on  the  point  of  saying  that  what 
Cariboo  Meadows  knew  of  her  through  the  medium  of 
Mr.  Howard  Perkins  was  not  at  all  to  her  credit. 

Roaring  Bill  looked  up  at  her  impassively.  *'  I 
know,"  he  said,  as  if  he  had  read  her  thought.  "  Your 
friend  Perkins  talked  a  lot.  But  what's  the  difference? 
Cariboo  Meadows  is  only  a  fleabite.  If  you're  right, 
and  you  know  you're  right,  you  can  look  the  world  in 
the  eye  and  tell  it  collectively  to  go  to  the  devil.  Be 
sides,  you've  got  a  perverted  idea.  People  aren't  so 
ready  to  give  you  the  bad  eye  on  somebody  else's 
say-so.  It  would  take  a  lot  more  than  a  flash  drum 
mer's  word  to  convince  me  that  you're  a  naughty  little 
girl.  Pshaw  —  forget  it !  " 

Hazel  colored  hotly  at  his  mention  of  Perkins,  but 
for  the  latter  part  of  his  speech  she  could  have  hugged 
him.  Bill  Wagstaff  went  a  long  way,  in  those  brief 
sentences,  toward  demolishing  her  conviction  that  no- 
man  ever  overlooked  an  opportunity  of  taking  advan 
tage  of  a  woman.  But  Bill  said  nothing  further.  He 
stood  a  moment  longer  by  her  horse,  resting  one  hand 
on  Silk's  mane,  and  scraping  absently  in  the  soft  earth 
with  the  toe  of  his  boot. 

"  Well,  let's  get  somewhere,"  he  said  abruptly.     "  If 


94  NORTH    OF    FIFTY-THREE 

you're  too  saddle  sore  to  ride,  walk  a  while.     I'll  go 
slower." 

She  walked,  and  the  exercise  relieved  the  cramping 
ache  in  her  limbs.  Roaring  Bill's  slower  pace  was  fast 
enough  at  that.  She  followed  till  her  strength  began 
to  fail.  And  when  in  spite  of  her  determination  she 
lagged  behind,  he  stopped  at  the  first  water. 

"  We'll  camp  here,"  he  said.  "  You're  about  all  in, 
and  we  can't  get  anywhere  to-night,  I  see  plainly." 

Hazel  accepted  this  dictum  as  best  she  could.  She 
sat  down  on  a  mossy  rock  while  he  stripped  the  horses 
of  their  gear  and  staked  them  out.  Then  Bill  started 
a  fire  and  fixed  the  roll  of  bedding  by  it  for  her  to  sit  on. 
Dusk  crept  over  the  forest  while  he  cooked  supper, 
making  a  bannock  in  the  frying  pan  to  take  the  place 
of  bread ;  and  when  they  had  finished  eating  and  washed 
the  few  dishes,  night  shut  down  black  as  the  pit. 

They  talked  little.  Hazel  was  in  the  grip  of  utter 
forlornness,  moody,  wishful  to  cry.  Roaring  Bill 
humped  on  his  side  of  the  fire,  staring  thoughtfully  into 
the  blaze.  After  a  long  period  of  abstraction  he 
glanced  at  his  watch,  then  arose  and  silently  arranged 
her  bed.  After  that  he  spread  his  saddle  blankets  and 
lay  down. 

Hazel  crept  into  the  covers  and  quietly  sobbed  her 
'self  to  sleep.  The  huge  and  silent  land  appalled  her. 
She  had  been  chucked  neck  and  crop  into  the  primitive, 
and  she  had  not  yet  been  able  to  react  to  her  environ 
ment.  She  was  neither  faint-hearted  nor  hysterical. 
The  grind  of  fending  for  herself  in  a  city  had  taught 
her  the  necessity  of  self-control.  But  she  was  worn 


95 

out,  unstrung,  and  there  is  a  limit  to  a  woman's  endur 
ance. 

As  on  the  previous  night,  she  wakened  often  and 
glanced  over  to  the  fire.  Roaring  Bill  kept  his  accus 
tomed  position,  flat  in  the  glow.  She  had  no  fear  of 
him  now.  But  he  was  something  of  an  enigma.  She 
had  few  illusions  about  men  in  general.  She  had  en 
countered  a  good  many  of  them  in  one  way  and  another 
since  reaching  the  age  when  she  coiled  her  hair  on  top 
of  her  head.  And  she  could  not  recall  one  —  not  even 
Jack  Barrow  —  with  whom  she  would  have  felt  at  ease 
in  a  similar  situation.  She  knew  that  there  was  a  some 
thing  about  her  that  drew  men.  If  the  presence  of  her 
had  any  such  effect  on  Bill  Wagstaff,  he  painstakingly 
concealed  it. 

And  she  was  duly  grateful  for  that.  She  had  not 
believed  it  a  characteristic  of  his  type  —  the  virile,  in 
tensely  masculine  type  of  man.  But  she  had  not  once 
found  him  looking  at  her  with  the  same  expression  in 
his  eyes  that  she  had  seen  once  over  Jim  Briggs'  din 
ing  table. 

Night  passed,  and  dawn  ushered  in  a  clearing  sky. 
Ragged  wisps  of  clouds  chased  each  other  across  the 
blue  when  they  set  out  again.  Hazel  walked  the  stiff 
ness  out  of  her  muscles  before  she  mounted.  When  she 

i 

did  get  on  Silk,  Roaring  Bill  increased  his  pace.  He 
was  long-legged  and  light  of  foot,  apparently  tireless. 
She  asked  no  questions.  What  was  the  use?  He  would 
eventually  come  out  somewhere.  She  was  resigned  to 
wait. 

After  a  time  she  began  to  puzzle,  and  the  old  uneasi- 


96  NORTH    OF    FIFTY-THREE 

ness  came  back.  The  last  trailing  banner  of  cloud  van 
ished,  and  the  sun  rode  clear  in  an  opal  sky,  smiling 
benignly  down  on  the  forested  land.  She  vas  thus  en 
abled  to  locate  the  cardinal  points  of  the  compass. 
Wherefore  she  took  to  gauging  their  course  by  the 
shadows.  And  the  result  was  what  set  her  thinking.. 
Over  level  and  ridge  and  swampy  hollow,  Roaring  Bill 
drove  straight  north  in  an  undeviating  line.  She  recol 
lected  that  the  point  from  which  she  had  lost  her  way 
had  lain  northeast  of  Cariboo  Meadows.  Even  if  they 
had  swung  in  a  circle,  they  could  scarcely  be  pointing 
for  the  town  in  that  direction.  For  another  hour  Bill 
held  to  the  northern  line  as  a  needle  holds  to  the  pole. 
A  swift  rush  of  misgiving  seized  her. 

"Mr.  Wagstaff!"  she  called  sharply. 

Roaring  Bill  stopped,  and  she  rode  Silk  up  past  the 
pack  horses. 

"  Where  are  you  taking  me?  "  she  demanded. 

"  Why,  I'm  taking  you  home  —  or  trying  to,"  he  an 
swered  mildly. 

"  But  you're  going  north?'  she  declared.  "  You've 
been  going  north  all  morning.  I  was  north  of  Cariboo 
Meadows  when  I  got  lost.  How  can  we  get  back  to 
Cariboo  Meadows  by  going  still  farther  north?  " 

"  You're  more  of  a  woodsman  than  I  imagined,"  Bill 
.remarked  gently.  He  smiled  up  at  her,  and  drew  out 
his  pipe  and  tobacco  pouch. 

She  looked  at  him  for  a  minute.  "  Do  you  know 
where  we  are  now?  "  she  asked  quietly. 

He  met  her  keen  gaze  calmly.  "  I  do,"  he  made  la 
conic  answer. 


IN    DEEP    WATER  97 

"  Which  way  is  Cariboo  Meadows,  then,  and  how  far 
is  it?  "  she  demanded. 

"  General  direction  south,"  he  replied  slowly. 
"  Fifty  miles  more  or  less.  Rather  more  than  less." 

"  And  you've  been  leading  me  straight  north ! "  she 
cried.  "  Oh,  what  am  I  going  to  do?  " 

"  Keep  right  on  going,"  Wagstaff  answered. 

"I  won't  — I  won't!"  she  flashed.  "I'll  find  my 
own  way  back.  What  devilish  impulse  prompted  you 
to  do  such  a  thing?  " 

"  You'll  have  a  beautiful  time  of  it,"  he  said  dryly, 
completely  ignoring  her  last  question.  "  Take  you 
three  days  to  walk  there  —  if  you  knew  every  foot  of 
the  way.  And  you  don't  know  the  way.  Traveling  in 
timber  is  confusing,  as  you've  discovered.  You'll  never 
see  Cariboo  Meadows,  or  any  other  place,  if  you  tackle 
it  single-handed,  without  grub  or  matches  or  bedding. 
It's  fall,  remember.  A  snowstorm  is  due  any  time. 
This  is  a  whopping  big  country.  A  good  many  men 
have  got  lost  in  it  —  and  other  men  have  found  their 
bones." 

He  let  this  sink  in  while  she  sat  there  on  his  horse 
choking  back  a  wild  desire  to  curse  him  by  bell,  book, 
and  candle  for  what  he  had  done,  and  holding  in  check 
the  fear  of  what  he  might  yet  do.  She  knew  him  to  be 
a  different  type  of  man  from  any  she  had  ever  encoun 
tered.  She  could  not  escape  the  conclusion  that  Roar 
ing  Bill  Wagstaff  was  something  of  a  law  unto  himself, 
capable  of  hewing  to  the  line  of  his  own  desires  at  any 
cost.  She  realized  her  utter  helplessness,  and  the  real 
ization  left  her  without  words.  He  had  drawn  a  vivid 


g8  NORTH    OF    FIFTY-THREE 

picture,  and  the  instinct  of  self-preservation  asserted  ifr 
self. 

"  You  misled  me."  She  found  her  voice  at  last. 
"Why?" 

"  Did  I  mislead  you  ?  "  he  parried.  "  Weren't  you 
already  lost  when  you  came  to  my  camp?  And  have  I 
mistreated  you  in  any  manner?  Have  I  refused  you 
food,  shelter,  or  help?  " 

"  My  home  is  in  Cariboo  Meadows,"  she  persisted. 
"  I  asked  you  to  take  me  there.  You  led  me  away  from 
there  deliberately,  I  believe  now." 

"  My  trail  doesn't  happen  to  lead  to  Cariboo  Mead 
ows,  that's  all,"  Roaring  Bill  coolly  told  her.  "  If  you 
must  go  back  there,  I  shan't  restrain  you  in  any  way 
whatever.  But  I'm  for  home  myself.  And  that,"  he 
came  close,  and  smiled  frankly  up  at  her,  "  is  a  better 
place  than  Cariboo  Meadows.  I've  got  a  little  house 
back  there  in  the  woods.  There's  a  big  fireplace  where 
the  wind  plays  tag  with  the  snowflakes  in  winter  time. 
There's  grub  there,  and  meat  in  the  forest,  and  fish  in 
the  streams.  It's  home  for  me.  Why  should  I  go  back 
to  Cariboo  Meadows?  Or  you?  " 

"  Why  should  7  go  with  you?  "  she  demanded  scorn- 
fully. 

"  Because  I  want  you  to,"  he  murmured. 

They  matched  glances  for  a  second,  Wagstaff  smil 
ing,  she  half  horrified. 

"  Are  you  clean  mad  ?  "  she  asked  angrily.  "  I  was 
beginning  to  think  you  a  gentleman." 

Bill  threw  back  his  head  and  laughed.  Then  on  the 
instant  he  sobered.  "  Not  a  gentleman,"  he  said. 


IN    DEEP   WATER  99 

"  I'm  just  plain  man.  And  lonesome  sometimes  for  a 
mate,  as  nature  has  ordained  to  be  the  way  of  flesh." 

"  Get  a  squaw,  then,"  she  sneered.  "  I've  heard  that 
such  people  as  you  do  that." 

"  Not  me,"  he  returned,  unruffled.  "  I  want  a  woman 
of  my  own  kind." 

"  Heaven  save  me  from  that  classification ! "  she  ob 
served,  with  emphasis  on  the  pronoun. 

"  Yes  ?  "  he  drawled.  "  Well,  there's  no  profit  in  ar 
guing  that  point.  Let's  be  getting  on." 

He  reached  for  the  lead  rope  of  the  nearest  pack 
horse. 

Hazel  urged  Silk  up  a  step.  "  Mr.  Wagstaff ,"  she 
cried,  "  I  must  go  back." 

"  You  can't  go  back  without  me,"  he  said.  "  And 
I'm  not  traveling  that  way,  thank  you." 

"  Please  —  oh,  please !  "  she  begged  forlornly. 

Roaring  Bill's  face  hardened.  "  I  will  not,"  he  said 
flatly.  "  I'm  going  to  play  the  game  my  way.  And 
I'll  play  fair.  That's  the  only  promise  I  will  make." 

She  took  a  look  at  the  encompassing  woods,  and  her 
heart  sank  at  facing  those  shadowy  stretches  alone  and 
unguided.  The  truth  of  his  statement  that  she  would 
never  reach  Cariboo  Meadows  forced  itself  home. 
There  was  but  the  one  way  out,  and  her  woman's  wit 
would  have  to  save  her. 

"  Go  on,  then,"  she  gritted,  in  a  swift  surge  of  an 
ger.  "  I  am  afraid  to  face  this  country  alone.  I  ad 
mit  my  helplessness.  But  so  help  me  Heaven,  I'll  make 
you  pay  for  this  dirty  trick!  You're  not  a  man! 
You're  a  cur  —  a  miserable,  contemptible  scoundrel !  " 


ioo  NORTH    OF    FIFTY-THREE 

"Whew!"  Roaring  Bill  laughed.  "Those  are 
pretty  names.  Just  the  same,  I  admire  your  grit. 
Well,  here  we  go !  " 

He  took  up  the  lead  rope,  and  went  on  without  even 
looking  back  to  see  if  she  followed.  If  he  had  made 
the  slightest  attempt  to  force  her  to  come,  if  he  had  be 
trayed  the  least  uncertainty  as  to  whether  she  would 
come,  Hazel  would  have  swung  down  from  the  saddle 
and  set  her  face  stubbornly  southward  in  sheer  defiance 
of  him.  But  such  is  the  peculiar  complexity  of  a 
woman  that  she  took  one  longing  glance  backward,  and 
then  fell  in  behind  the  packs.  She  was  weighted  down 
with  dread  of  the  unknown,  boiling  over  with  rage  at 
the  man  who  swung  light-footed  in  the  lead ;  but  never 
theless  she  followed  him. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE    HOUSE    THAT    JACK    BUILT 

All  the  rest  of  that  day  they  bore  steadily  north 
ward.  Hazel  had  no  idea  of  Bill  Wagstaff's  destina 
tion.  She  was  too  bitter  against  him  to  ask,  after  ad 
mitting  that  she  could  not  face  the  wilderness  alone. 
Between  going  it  alone  and  accompanying  him,  it  seemed 
to  be  a  case  of  choosing  the  lesser  evil.  Curiously  she 
felt  no  fear  of  Bill  Wagstaff  in  person,  and  she  did 
have  a  dread  vision  of  what  might  happen  to  her  if  she 
went  wandering  alone  in  the  woods.  There  was  one 
loophole  left  to  comfort  her.  It  seemed  scarcely  rea 
sonable  that  they  could  fare  on  forever  without  encoun 
tering  other  frontier  folk.  Upon  that  possibility  she 
based  her  hopes  of  getting  back  to  civilization,  not  so 
much  for  love  of  civilization  as  to  defeat  Roaring  Bill's 
object,  to  show  him  that  a  woman  had  to  be  courted 
rather  than  carried  away  against  her  will  by  any  care 
less,  strong-armed  male.  She  knew  nothing  of  the 
North,  but  she  thought  there  must  be  some  mode  of 
communication  or  transportation.  If  she  could  once 
get  in  touch  with  other  people  —  well,  she  would  show 
Roaring  Bill.  Of  course,  getting  back  to  Cariboo 
Meadows  meant  a  new  start  in  the  world,  for  she  had 
no  hope,  nor  any  desire,  to  teach  school  there  after  this 
episode.  She  found  herself  facing  that  prospect  un- 


102  NORTH    OF   FIFTY-THREE 

moved,  however.  The  important  thing  was  getting  out 
dF  her  present  predicament. 

Roaring  Bill  made  his  camp  that  night  as  if  no 
change  in  their  attitude  had  taken  place.  To  all  hi« 
efforts  at  conversation  she  turned  a  deaf  ear  and  a 
stony  countenance.  She  proposed  to  eat  his  food  and 
use  his  bedding,  because  that  was  necessary.  But  so 
cially  she  would  have  none  of  him.  Bill  eventually  gave 
over  trying  to  talk.  But  he  lost  none  of  his  cheerful 
ness.  He  lay  on  his  own  side  of  the  fire,  regarding  her 
with  the  amused  tolerance  that  one  bestows  upon  the 
capricious  temper  of  a  spoiled  child. 

Thereafter,  day  by  day,  the  miles  unrolled  behind 
them.  Always  Roaring  Bill  faced  straight  north. 
For  a  week  he  kept  on  tirelessly,  and  a  consuming  de 
sire  to  know  how  far  he  intended  to  go  began  to  take 
hold  of  her.  But  she  would  not  ask,  even  when  daily 
association  dulled  the  edge  of  her  resentment,  and  she 
found  it  hard  to  keep  up  her  hostile  attitude,  to  nurse 
bitterness  against  a  man  who  remained  serenely  unper 
turbed,  and  who,  for  all  his  apparent  lawlessness, 
treated  her  as  a  man  might  treat  his  sister. 

To  her  unpracticed  eye,  the  character  of  the  coun 
try  remained  unchanged  except  for  minor  variations. 
Everywhere  the  timber  stood  in  serried  ranks,  spotted 
with  lakes  and  small  meadows,  and  threaded  here  and 
there  with  little  streams.  But  at  last  they  dropped  into 
a  valley  where  the  woods  thinned  out,  and  down  the  cen 
ter  of  which  flowed  a  sizable  river.  This  they  followed 
north  a  matter  of  three  days.  On  the  west  the  valley 
wall  ran  to  a  timbered  ridge.  Eastward  the  jagged 


THE   HOUSE   JACK   BUILT  103 

peaks  of  a  snow-capped  mountain  chain  pierced  the  sky. 

Two  hours  from  their  noon  camp  on  the  fourth  day 
in  the  valley  Hazel  sighted  some  moving  objects  in  the 
distance,  angling  up  on  the  timber-patched  hillside. 
She  watched  them,  at  first  uncertain  whether  they  were 
'moose,  which  they  had  frequently  encountered,  or  do 
mestic  animals.  Accustomed  by  now  to  gauging  direc 
tion  at  a  glance  toward  the  sun,  she  observed  that  these 
objects  traveled  south. 

Presently,  as  the  lines  of  their  respective  travel 
brought  them  nearer,  she  made  them  out  to  be  men, 
mounted,  and  accompanied  by  packs.  She  counted  the 
riders  —  five,  and  as  many  pack  horses.  One,  she  felt 
certain,  was  a  woman  —  whether  white  or  red  she 
could  not  tell.  But  —  there  was  safety  in  numbers. 
And  they  were  going  south. 

Upon  her  first  impulse  she  swung  off  Silk,  and  started 
for  the  hillside,  at  an  angle  calculated  to  intercept  the 
pack  train.  There  was  a  chance,  and  she  was  rapidly 
becoming  inured  to  taking  chances.  At  a  distance  of  a 
hundred  yards,  she  looked  back,  half  fearful  that  Roar 
ing  Bill  was  at  her  heels.  But  he  stood  with  his  hands 
in  his  pockets,  watching  her.  She  did  not  look  again 
until  she  was  half  a  mile  up  the  hill.  Then  he  and  his 
packs  had  vanished. 

So,  too,  had  the  travelers  that  she  was  hurrying  to 
meet.  Off  the  valley  floor,  she  no  longer  commanded 
the  same  sweeping  outlook.  The  patches  of  timber  in 
tervened.  As  she  kept  on,  she  became  more  uncertain. 
But  she  bore  up  the  slope  until  satisfied  that  she  was 
parallel  with  where  they  should  come  cut ;  then  she 


ro4  NORTH    OF    FIFTY-THREE 

stopped  to  rest.  After  a  few  minutes  she  climbed  far 
ther,  endeavoring  to  reach  a  point  whence  she  could  see 
more  of  the  slope.  In  so  far  had  she  absorbed  wood 
craft  that  she  now  began  watching  for  tracks.  There 
were  enough  of  these,  but  they  were  the  slender,  tri 
angle  prints  of  the  shy  deer.  Nothing  resembling  the 
hoofmark  of  a  horse  rewarded  her  searching.  And  be 
fore  long,  what  with  turning  this  way  and  that,  she 
found  herself  on  a  plateau  where  the  pine  and  spruce 
stood  like  bristles  in  a  brush,  and  from  whence  she  could 
see  neither  valley  below  nor  hillside  above. 

She  was  growing  tired.  Her  feet  ached  from  climb 
ing,  and  she  was  wet  with  perspiration.  She  rested 
again,  and  tried  calling.  But  her  voice  sounded  muf 
fled  in  the  timber,  and  she  soon  gave  over  that.  The 
afternoon  was  on  the  wane,  and  she  began  to  think  of 
and  dread  the  coming  of  night.  Already  the  sun  had 
dipped  out  of  sight  behind  the  western  ridges ;  his  last 
beams  were  gilding  the  blue-white  pinnacles  a  hundred 
miles  to  the  east.  The  shadows  where  she  sat  were 
thickening.  She  had  given  up  hope  of  finding  the  pack 
train,  and  she  had  cut  loose  from  Roaring  Bill.  K 
would  be  just  like  him  to  shrug  his  shoulders  and  keep 
on  going,  she  thought  resentfully. 

As  twilight  fell  a  brief  panic  seized  her,  followed  by 
frightened  despair.  The  wilderness,  in  its  evening  hush, 
menaced  her  with  huge  emptinesses,  utter  loneliness. 
She  worked  her  way  to  the  edge  of  the  wooded  plateau. 
There  was  a  lingering  gleam  of  yellow  and  rose  pink 
on  the  distant  mountains,  but  the  valley  itself  lay  in  a 
blur  of  shade,  out  of  which  rose  the  faint  murmur  of 


THE    HOUSE    JACK    BUILT  105 

running  water,  a  monotone  in  the  silence.  She  sat 
down  on  a  dead  tree,  and  cried  softly  to  herself. 

"  Well?  " 

She  started,  with  an  involuntary  gasp  of  fear,  it  was 
so  unexpected.  Roaring  Bill  Wagstaff  stood  within 
five  feet  of  her,  resting  one  hand  on  the  muzzle  of  his 
grounded  rifle,  smiling  placidly. 

"  Well,"  he  repeated,  "  this  chasing  up  a  pack  train 
isn't  so  easy  as  it  looks,  eh?  " 

She  did  not  answer.  Her  pride  would  not  allow  her 
to  admit  that  she  was  glad  to  see  him,  relieved  to  be 
overtaken  like  a  truant  from  school.  And  Bill  did  not 
seem  to  expect  a  reply.  He  slung  his  rifle  into  the 
crook  of  his  arm. 

"  Come  on,  little  woman,"  he  said  gently.  "  I  knew 
you'd  be  tired,  and  I  made  camp  down  below.  It  isn't 
far." 

Obediently  she  followed  him,  and  as  she  tramped  at  his 
heels  she  saw  why  he  had  been  able  to  come  up  on  her 
so  noiselessly.  He  had  put  on  a  pair  of  moccasins, 
and  his  tread  gave  forth  no  sound. 

"  How  did  you  manage  to  find  me?  "  she  asked  sud 
denly  —  the  first  voluntary  speech  from  her  in  days. 

Bill  answered  over  his  shoulder: 

"Find  you?  Bless  your  soul,  your  little,  high- 
heeled  shoes  left  a  trail  a  one-eyed  man  could  follow. 
I've  been  within  fifty  yards  of  you  for  two  hours. 

"  Just  the  same,"  he  continued,  after  a  minute's  in 
terval,  "  it's  bad  business  for  you  to  run  off  like  that. 
Suppose  you  played  hide  and  seek  with  me  till  a  storm 
wiped  out  your  track?  You'd  be  in  a  deuce  of  a  fix." 


io6          NORTH   OF   FIFTY-THREE 

She  made  no  reply.  The  lesson  of  the  experience  was 
not  lost  on  her,  but  she  was  not  going  to  tell  him  so. 

In  a  short  time  they  reached  camp.  Roaring  Bill 
had  tarried  long  enough  to  unpack.  The  horses  grazed 
on  picket.  It  was  borne  in  upon  her  that  short  of 
actually  meeting  other  people  her  only  recourse  lay  in 
sticking  to  Bill  Wagstaff,  whether  she  liked  it  or  not. 
To  strike  out  alone  was  courting  self-destruction.  And 
she  began  to  understand  why  Roaring  Bill  made  no  ef 
fort  to  watch  or  restrain  her.  He  knew  the  grim 
power  of  the  wilderness.  It  was  his  best  ally  in  what 
he  had  set  out  to  do. 

Within  forty-eight  hours  the  stream  they  followed 
merged  itself  in  another,  both  wide  and  deep,  which 
flowed  west  through  a  level-bottomed  valley  three  miles 
or  more  in  width.  Westward  the  land  spread  out  in  a 
continuous  roll,  marked  here  and  there  with  jutting 
ridges  and  isolated  peaks ;  but  on  the  east  a  chain  of 
rugged  mountains  marked  the  horizon  as  far  as  she 
could  see. 

Roaring  Bill  halted  on  the  river  brink  and  stripped 
his  horses  clean,  though  it  was  but  two  in  the  afternoon 
and  their  midday  fire  less  than  an  hour  extinguished. 
She  watched  him  curiously.  When  his  packs  were  off 
he  beckoned  her. 

"  Hold  them  a  minute,"  he  said,  and  put  the  lead 
ropes  in  her  hand. 

Then  he  went  up  the  bank  into  a  thicket  of  saska 
toons.  Out  of  this  he  presently  emerged,  bearing  on 
his  shoulders  a  canoe,  old  and  weather-beaten,  but 
stanch,  for  it  rode  light  as  a  feather  on  the  stream. 


Roaring  Bill  Wagstaff  stood  within  five  feet  of  her,  resttof 

one  hand  on  the  muzzle  of  his  grounded  rifle. 

Page  105. 


THE   HOUSE   JACK   BUILT  107 

Bill  seated  himself  in  the  canoe,  holding  to  Silk's  lead 
rope.  The  other  two  he  left  free. 

"  Now,"  he  directed,  "  when  I  start  across,  you  drive 
Nigger  and  Satin  in  if  they  show  signs  of  hanging  back. 
Bounce  a  rock  or  two  off  them  if  they  lag." 

Her  task  was  an  easy  one,  for  Satin  and  Nigger 
followed  Silk  unhesitatingly.  The  river  lapped  along 
the  sleek  sides  of  them  for  fifty  yards.  Then  they 
dropped  suddenly  into  swimming  water,  and  the  cur 
rent  swept  them  downstream  slantwise  for  the  opposite 
shore,  only  their  heads  showing  above  the  surface. 
Hazel  wondered  what  river  it  might  be.  It  was  a  good 
quarter  of  a  mile  wide,  and  swift. 

Roaring  Bill  did  not  trouble  to  enlighten  her  as  to 
the  locality.  When  he  got  back  he  stowed  the  saddle 
and  pack  equipment  in  the  canoe. 

"  All  aboard  for  the  north  side,"  he  said  boyishly. 
And  Hazel  climbed  obediently  amidships. 

On  the  farther  side,  Bill  emptied  the  canoe,  and 
stowed  it  out  of  sight  in  a  convenient  thicket,  repacked 
his  horses,  and  struck  out  again.  They  left  the  valley 
behind,  and  camped  that  evening  on  a  great  height  of 
land  that  rolled  up  to  the  brink  of  the  valley. 

Thereafter  the  country  underwent  a  gradual  change 
as  they  progressed  north,  slanting  a  bit  eastward. 
The  heavy  timber  gave  way  to  a  sparser  growth,  and 
that  in  turn  dwindled  to  scrubby  thickets,  covering 
great  areas  of  comparative  level.  Long  reaches  of 
grassland  opened  before  them,  waving  yellow  in  the 
autumn  sun.  They  crossed  other  rivers  of  various  de 
grees  of  depth  and  *wiftness,  swimming  some  and  ford- 


io8          NORTH    OF    FIFTY-THREE 

ing  others.  Hazel  drew  upon  her  knowledge  of  British 
Columbia  geography,  and  decided  that  the  big  river 
where  Bill  hid  his  canoe  must  be  the  Fraser  where  it 
debouched  from  the  mountains.  And  in  that  case  she 
was  far  north,  and  in  a  wilderness  indeed. 

Her  muscles  gradually  hardened  to  the  saddle  and 
to  walking.  Her  appetite  grew  in  proportion.  The 
email  supply  of  eatable  dainties  that  Roaring  Bill  had 
brought  from  the  Meadows  dwindled  and  disappeared, 
until  they  were  living  on  bannocks  baked  a  la  frontier 
in  his  frying  pan,  on  beans  and  coffee,  and  venison 
killed  by  the  way.  Yet  she  relished  the  coarse  fare 
even  while  she  rebelled  against  the  circumstances  of  its 
partaking.  Occasionally  Bill  varied  the  meat  diet  with 
trout  caught  in  the  streams  beside  which  they  made 
their  various  camps.  He  offered  to  teach  her  the  se 
crets  of  angling,  but  she  shrugged  her  shoulders  by  way 
of  showing  her  contempt  for  Roaring  Bill  and  all  his 
works. 

"  Do  you  realize,"  she  broke  out  one  evening  over  the 
fire,  "  that  this  is  simply  abduction  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all,"  Bill  answered  promptly.  "  Abduc 
tion  means  to  take  away  surreptitiously  by  force,  to 
carry  away  wrongfully  and  by  violence  any  human 
being,  to  kidnap.  Now,  you  can't  by  any  stretch  of 
the  imagination  accuse  me  of  force,  violence,  or  kid 
naping —  not  by  a  long  shot.  You  merely  wandered 
into  my  camp,  and  it  wasn't  convenient  for  me  to  turn 
back.  Therefore  circumstances  —  not  my  act,  remem 
ber  —  made  it  advisable  for  you  to  accompany  me.  Of 
•eourse  I'll  admit  that,  according  to  custom  and  usage, 


THE    HOUSE   JACK    BUILT  ioe, 

you  would  expect  me  to  do  the  polite  thing  and  restore 
you  to  your  own  stamping  ground.  But  there's  no 
law  making  it  mandatory  for  a  fellow  to  pilot  home  a 
lady  in  distress.  Isn't  that  right? 

"  Anyhow,"  he  went  on,  when  she  remained  silent,  "  I 
didn't.     And  you'll  have  to  lay  the  blame  on  nature  forj 
making  you  a  wonderfully  attractive  woman.     I   did' 
honestly  try  to  find  the  way  to  Cariboo  Meadows  that 
first  night.     It  was  only  when  I  found  myself  thinking 
how  fine  it  would  be  to  pike  through  these  old  woods 
and  mountains  with  a  partner  like  you  that  I  decided 
« —  as  I  did.     I'm  human  —  the  woman,  she  tempted  me. 
And  aren't  you  better  off?     I  could  hazard  a  guess  that 
you  were  running  away  from  yourself  —  or  something 
—  when  you   struck   Cariboo   Meadows.     And   what's 
Cariboo  Meadows  but  a  little  blot  on  the  face  of  this 
fair  earth,  where  you  were  tied  to  a  deadly  routine  in 
order  to  earn  your  daily  bread?     You  don't  care  two 
whoops  about  anybody  there.     Here  you  are  free  — 
free  in  every  sense  of  the  word.     You  have  no  responsi 
bility  except  what  you  impose  on  yourself;  no  board 
bills  to  pay ;  nobody  to  please  but  your  own  little  self,  j 
You've  got  the  clean,  wide  land  for  a  bedroom,  and  the 
sky  for  its  ceiling,  instead  of  a  stuffy  little  ten-by-ten 
chamber.     Do  you  know  that  you  look  fifty  per  cent 
better  for  these  few  days  of  living  in  the  open  —  the 
way  every  normal  being  likes  to  live?     You're  getting 
some    color   in   your   cheeks,    and   you're   losing   that 
worried,  archangel  look.     Honest,  if  I  were  a  physician, 
I'd  have  only  one  prescription:     Get  out  into  the  wild 
country,   and  live   off  the   country   as  your  primitive 


no          NORTH   OF   FIFTY-THREE 

forefathers  did.  Of  course,  you  can't  do  that  alone, 
I  know  because  I've  tried  it.  We  humans  don't  differ 
so  greatly  from  the  other  animals.  We're  made  to  hunt 
in  couples  or  packs.  There's  a  purpose,  a  law,  you 
might  say,  behind  that,  too;  only  it's  terribly  obscured 
by  a  lot  of  other  nones  sentials  in  this  day  and  age. 

"  Is  there  any  comparison  between  this  sort  of  life, 
for  instance  —  if  it  appeals  to  one  at  all  —  and  being 
a  stenographer  and  bucking  up  against  the  things  any 
good-looking,  unprotected  girl  gets  up  against  in  a 
city?  You  know,  if  you'd  be  frank,  that  there  isn't. 
Shucks !  Herding  in  the  mass,  and  struggling  for  a 
mere  subsistence,  like  dogs  over  a  bone,  degenerates 
man  physically,  mentally,  and  morally  — •  all  our 
vaunted  civilization  and  culture  to  the  contrary  not 
withstanding.  Eh?  " 

But  she  would  not  take  up  the  cudgels  against  him, 
would  not  seem  to  countenance  or  condone  his  offense 
by  discussing  it  from  any  angle  whatsoever.  And  she 
was  the  more  determined  to  allow  no  degree  of  friendli 
ness,  even  in  conversation,  because  she  recognized  the 
masterful  quality  of  the  man.  She  told  herself  that 
she  could  have  liked  Roaring  Bill  Wagstaff  very  well 
if  he  had  not  violated  what  she  considered  the  rules  of 
the  game.  And  she  had  no  mind  to  allow  his  personality 
to  sweep  her  off  her  feet  in  the  same  determined  man 
ner  that  he  had  carried  her  into  the  wilderness.  She 
was  no  longer  afraid  of  him.  She  occasionally  for 
got,  in  spite  of  herself,  that  she  had  a  deep-seated 
grievance  against  him.  At  such  times  the  wild  land, 
the  changing  vistas  the  journey  opened  up,  charmed 


THE   HOUSE   JACK   BUILT  in 

her  into  genuine  enjoyment.  She  would  find  herself 
smiling  at  Bill's  quaint  tricks  of  speech.  Then  she 
would  recollect  that  she  was,  to  all  intents  and  pur 
poses,  a  prisoner,  the  captive  of  his  bow  and  spear. 
That  was  maddening. 

After  a  lapse  of  time  they  dropped  into  another, 
valley,  and  faced  westward  to  a  mountain  range  which 
Bill  told  her  was  the  Rockies.  The  next  day  a  snow 
storm  struck  them.  At  daybreak  the  clouds  were 
massed  overhead,  lowering,  and  a  dirty  gray.  An  un 
common  chill,  a  rawness  of  atmosphere  foretold  the 
change.  And  shortly  after  they  broke  camp  the  first 
snowflakes  began  to  drift  down,  slowly  at  first,  then 
more  rapidly,  until  the  grayness  of  the  sky  and  the 
misty  woods  were  enveloped  in  the  white  swirl  of  the 
storm.  It  was  not  particularly  cold.  Bill  wrapped 
her  in  a  heavy  canvas  coat,  and  plodded  on.  Noon 
passed,  and  he  made  no  stop.  If  anything,  he  increased 
his  pace. 

Suddenly,  late  in  the  afternoon,  they  stepped  out  of 
the  timber  into  a  little  clearing,  in  which  the  blurred 
outline  of  a  cabin  showed  under  the  wide  arms  of  a 
leafless  tree. 

The  melting  snow  had  soaked  through  the  coat;  her 
feet  were  wet  with  the  clinging  flakes,  and  the  chill  oi 
a  lowering  temperature  had  set  Hazel  shivering. 

Roaring  Bill  halted  at  the  door  and  lifted  her  down 
from  Silk's  back  without  the  formality  of  asking  her 
leave.  He  pulled  the  latchstring,  and  led  her  in.  Be 
side  the  rude  stone  fireplace  wood  and  kindling  were 
piled  in  readiness  for  use.  Bill  kicked  the  door  shut, 


U2  NORTH    OF   FIFTY-THREE 

dropped  on  his  knees,  and  started  the  fire.  In  five  min 
utes  a  great  blaze  leaped  and  crackled  into  the  wide 
throat  of  the  chimney.  Then  he  piled  on  more  wood, 
and  turned  to  her. 

M  This  is  the  house  that  Jack  built,"  he  said,  with  a 
sober  face  and  a  twinkle  in  his  gray  eyes.  "  This  is 
the  man  that  lives  in  the  house  that  Jack  built.  And 
this  "•  —  he  pointed  mischievously  at  her  — "  is  the 
woman  who's  going  to  love  the  man  that  lives  in  the 
house  that  Jack  built." 

"  That's  a  lie ! "  she  flashed  stormily  through  her 
chattering  teeth. 

"  Well,  we'll  see,"  he  answered  cheerfully.  "  Get  up 
here  close  to  the  fire  and  take  off  those  wet  things  while 
I  put  away  the  horses." 

with  that  he  went  out,  whistling. 


CHAPTER  X 

A    MTTLE    PERSONAL    HISTORY 

Hazel  discarded  the  wet  coat,  and,  drawing  a  chair 
up  to  the  fire,  took  off  her  sopping  footgear  and  toasted 
her  bare  feet  at  the  blaze.  Her  clothing  was  also  wet, 
and  she  wondered  pettishly  how  in  the  world  she  was 
going  to  manage  with  only  the  garments  on  her  back  — • 
and  those  dirty  and  torn  from  hacking  through  the 
brush  for  a  matter  of  two  weeks.  According  to  her 
standards,  that  was  roughing  it  with  a  vengeance.  But 
presently  she  gave  over  thinking  of  her  plight.  The 
fire  warmed  her,  and,  with  the  chill  gone  from  her  body, 
she  bestowed  a  curious  glance  on  her  surroundings. 

Her  experience  of  homes  embraced  only  homes  of  two 
sorts  —  the  middle-class,  conventional  sort  to  which  she 
had  been  accustomed,  and  the  few  poorly  furnished 
frontier  dwellings  she  had  entered  since  coming  to  the 
hinterlands  of  British  Columbia.  She  had  a  vague 
impression  that  any  dwelling  occupied  exclusively  by 
a  man  must  of  necessity  be  dirty,  disordered,  and  cheer 
less.  But  she  had  never  seen  a  room  such  as  the  one 
she  now  found  herself  in.  It  conformed  to  none  of 
her  preconceived  ideas. 

There  was  furniture  of  a  sort  unknown  to  her,  tables 
and  chairs  fashioned  by  hand  with  infinite  labor  ancl 
rude  skill,  massive  in  structure,  upholstered  with  the 


II4  NORTH    OF    FIFTY-THREE 

skins  of  wild  beasts  common  to  the  region.  Upon  the 
walls  hung  pictures,  dainty  black-and-white  prints, 
and  a  water  color  or  two.  And  between  the  pic 
tures  were  nailed  heads  of  mountain  sheep  and  goat, 
the  antlers  of  deer  and  caribou.  Above  the  fire 
place  spread  the  huge  shovel  horns  of  a  moose, 
bearing  across  the  prongs  a  shotgun  and  fishing  rods. 
The  center  of  the  floor  —  itself,  as  she  could  see,  of 
hand-smoothed  logs  —  was  lightened  with  a  great  black 
and  red  and  yellow  rug  of  curious  weave.  Covering 
up  the  bare  surface  surrounding  it  were  bearskins,  black 
and  brown.  Her  feet  rested  in  the  fur  of  a  monster 
silvertip,  fur  thicker  and  softer  than  the  pile  of  any 
carpet  ever  fabricated  by  man.  All  around  the  walls 
ran  shelves  filled  with  books.  A  guitar  stood  in  one 
corner,  a  mandolin  in  another.  The  room  was  all  of 
sixteen  by  twenty  feet,  and  it  was  filled  with  trophies 
of  the  wild  —  and  books. 

Except  for  the  dust  that  had  gathered  lightly  in  its 
owner's  absence,  the  place  was  as  neat  and  clean  as 
if  the  housemaid  had  but  gone  over  it.  Hazel  shrugged 
her  shoulders.  Roaring  Bill  Wagstaff  became,  if  any 
thing,  more  of  an  enigma  than  ever,  in  the  light  of  his 
dwelling.  She  recollected  that  Cariboo  Meadows  had 
regarded  him  askance,  and  wondered  why. 

He  came  in  while  her  gaze  was  still  roving  from  one 
object  to  another,  and  threw  his  wet  outer  clothing, 
boy  fashion,  on  the  nearest  chair. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  we're  here." 

"  Please  don't  forget,  Mr.  Wagstaff,"  she  replied 
coldly,  "  that  I  would  much  prefer  not  to  be  here." 


A  LITTLE   PERSONAL   HISTORY       115 

He  stood  a  moment  regarding  her  with  his  odd  smile. 
Then  he  went  into  the  adjoining  room.  Out  of  this 
he  presently  emerged,  dragging  a  small  steamer  trunk. 
He  opened  it,  got  down  on  his  knees,  and  pawed  over 
the  contents.  Hazel,  looking  over  her  shoulder,  saw 
that  the  trunk  was  filled  with  woman's  garments,  and 
sat  amazed. 

"  Say,  little  person,"  Bill  finally  remarked,  "  it  looks 
to  me  as  if  you  could  outfit  yourself  completely  right 
here." 

" 1  don't  know  that  I  care  to  deck  myself  in  another 
woman's  finery,  thank  you,"  she  returned  perversely. 

"  Now,  see  here,"  Roaring  Bill  turned  reproachfully ; 
"  see  here  — " 

He  grinned  to  himself  then,  and  went  again  into  the 
other  room,  returning  with  a  small,  square  mirror.  He 
planted  himself  squarely  in  front  of  her,  and  held  up 
the  glass.  Hazel  took  one  look  at  her  reflection,  and 
she  could  have  struck  Roaring  Bill  for  his  audacity. 
She  had  not  realized  what  an  altogether  disreputable 
appearance  a  normally  good-looking  young  woman 
could  acquire  in  two  weeks  on  the  trail,  with  no  toilet 
accessories  and  only  the  clothes  on  her  back.  She 
tried  to  snatch  the  mirror  from  him,  but  Bill  eluded 
her  reach,  and  laid  the  glass  on  the  table. 

"  You'll  feel  a  whole  better  able  to  cope  with  the 
situation,"  he  told  her  smilingly,  "  when  you  get  some 
decent  clothes  on  and  your  hair  fixed.  That's  a  woman. 
And  you  don't  need  to  feel  squeamish  about  these  things. 
This  trunk's  got  a  history,  let  me  tell  you.  A  bunch 
of  simon-pure  tenderfeet  strayed  into  the  mountain* 


u6  NORTH    OF    FIFTY-THREE 

west  of  here  a  couple  of  summers  ago.  There  were 
two  women  in  the  bunch.  The  youngest  one,  who  was 
about  your  age  and  size,  must  have  had  more  than  her 
share  of  vanity.  I  guess  she  figured  on  charming  the 
bear  and  the  moose,  or  the  simple  aborigines  who  dwell 
in  this  neck  of  the  woods.  Anyhow,  she  had  all  kinds 
of  unnecessary  fixings  along,  that  trunkful  of  stuff 
in  the  lot.  You  can  imagine  what  a  nice  time  their 
guides  had  packing  that  on  a  horse,  eh?  They  got 
into  a  deuce  of  a  pickle  finally,  and  had  to  abandon  a 
lot  of  their  stuff,  among  other  things  the  steamer  trunk. 
I  lent  them  a  hand,  and  they  told  me  to  help  myself 
to  the  stuff.  So  I  did  after  they  were  out  of  the 
country.  That's  how  you  come  to  have  a  wardrobe 
all  ready  to  your  hand.  Now,  you'd  be  awful  foolish 
to  act  like  a  mean  and  stiff-necked  female  person. 
You're  not  going  to,  are  you  ?  "  he  wheedled.  "  Be 
cause  I  want  to  make  you  comfortable.  What's  the 
use  of  getting  on  your  dignity  over  a  little  thing  like 
clothes?" 

"  I  don't  intend  to,"  Hazel  suddenly  changed  front. 
"  I'll  make  myself  as  comfortable  as  I  can  —  partic 
ularly  if  it  will  put  you  to  any  trouble." 

"You're  bound  to  scrap,  eh?"  he  grinned.  "But 
it  takes  two  to  build  a  fight,  and  I  positively  refuse  to* 
fight  with  you." 

He  dragged  the  trunk  back  into  the  room,  and  came 
out  carrying  a  great  armful  of  masculine  belongings. 
Two  such  trips  he  made,  piling  all  his  things  onto  a 
chair. 

"  There !  "  he  said  at  last.     "  That  end  of  the  house 


A   LITTLE    PERSONAL    HISTORY       i*/ 

belongs  to  you,  little  person.  Now,  get  those  wet  things 
off  before  you  catch  a  cold.  Oh,  wait  a  minute !  " 

He  disappeared  into  the  kitchen  end  of  the  house, 
and  came  back  with  a  wash-basin  and  a  pail  of  water. 

"  Your  room  is  now  ready,  madam,  an  it  please  you." 
He  bowed  with  mock  dignity,  and  went  back  into  the 
kitchen. 

Hazel  heard  him  rattling  pots  and  dishes,  whistling 
cheerfully  the  while.  She  closed  the  door,  and  busied 
herself  with  an  inventory  of  the  tenderfoot  lady's  trunk. 
In  it  she  found  everything  needful  for  complete 
change,  and  a  variety  of  garments  to  boot.  Folded  in 
the  bottom  of  the  trunk  was  a  gray  cloth  skirt  and  a 
short  blue  silk  kimono.  There  was  a  coat  and  skirt, 
too,  of  brown  corduroy.  But  the  feminine  instinct  as 
serted  itself,  and  she  laid  out  the  gray  skirt  and  the 
kimono. 

For  a  dresser  Roaring  Bill  had  fashioned  a  wide 
shelf,  and  on  it  she  found  a  toilet  set  complete  —  hand 
mirror,  military  brushes,  and  sundry  articles,  backed 
with  silver  and  engraved  with  his  initials.  Perhaps 
with  a  spice  of  malice,  she  put  on  a  few  extra  touches. 
There  would  be  some  small  satisfaction  in  tantalizing 
Bill  Wagstaff  —  even  if  she  could  not  help  feeling  that 
it  might  be  a  dangerous  game.  And,  thus  arrayed  in 
the  weapons  of  her  sex,  she  slipped  on  the  kimono,  and 
went  into  the  living-room  to  the  cheerful  glow  of  the 
fire. 

Bill  remained  busy  in  the  kitchen.  Dusk  fell.  The 
gleam  of  a  light  showed  through  a  crack  in  the  door. 
In  the  big  room  only  the  fire  gave  battle  to  the  shadows, 


n8          NORTH    OF   FIFTY-THREE 

throwing  a  ruddy  glow  into  the  far  corners.  Pres 
ently  Bill  came  in  with  a  pair  of  candles  which  he  set 
on  the  mantel  above  the  fireplace. 

"  By  Jove ! "  he  said,  looking  down  at  her.  "  You 
look  good  enough  to  eat!  I'm  not  a  cannibal,  how 
ever,"  he  continued  hastily,  when  Hazel  flushed.  She 
was  not  used  to  such  plain  speaking.  "  And  supper's 
ready.  Come  on !  " 

The  table  was  set.  Moreover,  to  her  surprise  —  and 
yet  not  so  greatly  to  her  surprise,  for  she  was  begin 
ning  to  expect  almost  anything  from  this  paradoxical 
young  man  —  it  was  spread  with  linen,  and  the  cutlery 
was  silver,  the  dishes  china,  in  contradistinction  to  the 
tinware  of  his  camp  outfit. 

As  a  cook  Roaring  Bill  Wagstaff  had  no  cause  to 
be  ashamed  of  himself,  and  Hazel  enjoyed  the  meal, 
particularly  since  she  had  eaten  nothing  since  six  in 
the  morning.  After  a  time,  when  her  appetite  was 
partially  satisfied,  she  took  to  glancing  over  his  kitchen. 
There  seemed  to  be  some  adjunct  of  a  kitchen  missing. 
A  fire  burned  on  a  hearth  similar  to  the  one  in  the  liv 
ing  room.  Pots  stood  about  the  edge  of  the  fire.  But 
there  was  no  sign  of  a  stove. 

Bill  finished  eating,  and  resorted  to  cigarette  ma 
terial  instead  of  his  pipe. 

"  Well,  little  person,"  he  said  at  last,  "  what  do  you 
think  of  this  joint  of  mine,  anyway?  " 

"  I've  just  been  wondering,"  she  replied.  "  I  don't 
see  any  stove,  yet  you  have  food  here  that  looks  as  if  it 
were  baked,  and  biscuits  that  must  have  been  cooked 
in  an  oven." 


A   LITTLE   PERSONAL   HISTORY      119 

"  You  see  no  stove  for  the  good  and  sufficient  reason,'* 
he  returned,  "  that  you  can't  pack  a  stove  on  a  horse  — 
said  we're  three  hundred  odd  miles  from  the  end  of  any 
wagon  road.  With  a  Dutch  oven  or  two  —  that  heavy, 
round  iron  thing  you  see  there  —  I  can  guarantee  to 
cook  almost  anything  you  can  cook  on  a  stove.  Any 
body  can  if  they  know  how.  Besides,  I  like  things  bet 
ter  this  way.  If  I  didn't,  I  suppose  I'd  have  a  stove 
—  and  maybe  a  hot-water  supply,  and  modern  plumb 
ing.  As  it  is,  it  affords  me  a  sort  of  prideful  satisfac 
tion,  which  you  may  or  may  not  be  able  to  understand, 
that  this  cabin  and  everything  in  it  is  the  work  of  my 
hands  —  of  stuff  I've  packed  in  here  with  all  sorts  of 
effort  from  the  outside.  Maybe  I'm  a  freak.  But 
I'm  proud  of  this  place.  Barring  the  inevitable  lone- 
someness  that  comes  now  and  then,  I  can  be  happier 
here  than  any  place  I've  ever  struck  yet.  This  coun 
try  grows  on  one." 

"  Yes  —  on  one's  nerves,"  Hazel  retorted. 

Bill  smiled,  and,  rising,  began  to  clear  away  the 
dishes.  Hazel  resisted  an  impulse  to  help.  She  would 
not  work ;  she  would  not  lift  her  finger  to  any  task,  she 
reminded  herself.  He  had  put  her  in  her  present  posi 
tion,  and  he  could  wait  on  her.  So  she  rested  an  elbow 
on  the  table  and  watched  him.  In  the  midst  of  his  work 
he  stopped  suddenly. 

"  There's  oceans  of  time  to  do  this,"  he  observed. 
"  I'm  just  a  wee  bit  tired,  if  anybody  should  ask  you. 
Let's  camp  in  the  other  room.  It's  a  heap  more  comfy.'1 

He  put  more  wood  on  the  kitchen  fire,  and  set  a  pot 
of  water  to  heat.  Out  in  the  living-room  Hazel  drew 


120          NORTH    OF   FIFTY-THREE 

her  chair  to  one  side  of  the  hearth.  Bill  sprawled  on 
the  bearskin  robe  with  another  cigarette  in  his  fingers. 

"  No,"  he  began,  after  a  long  silence,  "  this  coun 
try  doesn't  get  on  one's  nerves  —  not  if  one  is  a  nor 
mal  human  being.  You'll  find  that.  When  I  first  came 
up  here  I  thought  so,  too ;  it  seemed  so  big  and  empty 
and  forbidding.  But  the  more  I  see  of  it  the  better  it 
compares  with  the  outer  world,  where  the  extremes  of 
luxury  and  want  are  always  in  evidence.  It  began  to 
seem  like  home  to  me  when  I  first  looked  down  into  this 
little  basin.  I  had  a  partner  then.  I  said  to  him: 
*  Here's  a  dandy,  fine  place  to  winter.'  So  we  wintered 
—  in  a  log  shack  sixteen  foot  square  that  Silk  and  Satin 
and  Nigger  have  for  a  stable  now.  When  summer 
came  my  partner  wanted  to  move  on,  so  I  stayed. 
Stayed  and  began  to  build  for  the  next  winter.  And 
I've  been  working  at  it  ever  since,  making  little  things 
like  chairs  and  tables  and  shelves,  and  fixing  up  game 
heads  whenever  I  got  an  extra  good  one.  And  maybe 
two  or  three  times  a  year  I'd  go  out.  Get  restless,  you 
know.  I'm  not  really  a  hermit  by  nature.  Lord,  the 
things  I've  packed  in  here  from  the  outside !  Books  — 
I  hired  a  whole  pack  train  at  Ashcroft  once  to  bring  in 
just  books ;  they  thought  I  was  crazy,  I  guess.  I've 
quit  this  place  once  or  twice,  but  I  always  come  back. 
It's  got  that  home  feel  that  I  can't  find  anywhere  else. 
Only  it  has  always  lacked  one  important  home  quali 
fication,"  he  finished  softly.  "  Do  you  ever  build  air 
castles  ?  " 

"  No,"  Hazel  answered  untruthfully,  uneasy  at  the 
trend  of  his  talk.  She  was  learning  that  Bill  Wag- 


A   LITTLE    PERSONAL    HISTORY       121 

staff,  for  all  his  gentleness  and  patience  with  her,  was 
a  persistent  mortal. 

"  Well,  I  do,"  he  continued,  unperturbed.  "  Lots  of 
'em.  But  mostly  around  one  thing  —  a  woman  —  a 
dream  woman  —  because  I  never  saw  one  that  seemed 
to  fit  in  until  I  ran  across  you." 

"  Mr.  Wagstaff,"  Hazel  pleaded,  "  won't  you  please 
stop  talking  like  that  ?  It  isn't  —  it  isn't  — " 

"  Isn't  proper,  I  suppose,"  Bill  supplied  dryly. 
"  Now,  that's  merely  an  error,  and  a  fundamental  error 
on  your  part,  little  person.  Our  emotion  and  instincts 
are  perfectly  proper  when  you  get  down  to  funda 
mentals.  You've  got  an  artificial  standard  to  judge 
by,  that's  all.  And  I  don't  suppose  you  have  the  least 
idea  how  many  lives  are  spoiled  one  way  and  another 
by  the  op€ration  of  those  same  artificial  standards  in 
this  little  old  world.  Now,  I  may  seem  to  you  a  law 
less,  unprincipled  individual  indeed,  because  I've  acted 
contrary  to  your  idea  of  the  accepted  order  of  things. 
But  here's  my  side  of  it:  I'm  in  search  of  happiness. 
We  all  are.  I  have  a  few  ideals  —  and  very  few  il 
lusions.  I  don't  quite  believe  in  this  thing  called  love 
at  first  sight.  That  presupposes  a  volatility  of  emo 
tion  that  people  of  any  strength  of  character  are  not 
likely  to  indulge  in.  But  —  for  instance,  a  man  can 
have  a  very  definite  ideal  of  the  kind  of  woman  he  would 
like  for  a  mate,  the  kind  of  woman  he  could  be  happy 
with  and  could  make  happy.  And  whenever  he  finds  a 
woman  who  corresponds  to  that  ideal  he's  apt  to  make 
a  strenuous  attempt  to  get  her.  That's  pretty  much 
how  I  felt  about  you." 


122  NORTH    OF   FIFTY-THREE 

"  You  had  no  right  to  kidnap  me,"  Hazel  cried. 

"  You  had  no  business  getting  lost  and  making  it 
possible  for  me  to  carry  you  off,"  Bill  replied.  "  Isn't 
that  logic?" 

"  I'll  never  forgive  you,"  Hazel  flashed.  "  It  was 
treacherous  and  unmanly.  There  are  other  ways  of 
winning  a  woman." 

"  There  wasn't  any  other  way  open  to  me."  Bill 
grew  suddenly  moody.  "  Not  with  you  in  Cariboo 
Meadows.  I'm  taboo  there.  You'd  have  got  a  his 
tory  of  me  that  would  have  made  you  cut  me  dead ;  you 
may  have  had  the  tale  of  my  misdeeds  for  all  I  know. 
No,  it  was  impossible  for  me  to  get  acquainted  with  you 
in  the  conventional  way.  I  knew  that,  and  so  I  didn't 
make  any  effort.  Why,  I'd  have  been  at  your  elbow 
when  you  left  the  supper  table  at  Jim  Briggs'  that 
night  if  I  hadn't  known  how  it  would  be.  I  went 
there  out  of  sheer  curiosity  to  take  a  look  at  you  — 
maybe  out  of  a  spirit  of  defiance,  too,  because  I  knew 
that  I  was  certainly  not  welcome  even  if  they  were  will 
ing  to  take  my  money  for  a  meal.  And  I  came  away  all 
up  in  the  air.  There  was  something  about  you  —  the 
tone  of  your  voice,  the  way  your  proud  little  head  is  set 
on  your  shoulders,  your  make-up  in  general  —  that  sent 
me  away  with  a  large-sized  grouch  at  myself,  at  Cari 
boo  Meadows,  and  at  you  for  coming  in  my  way." 

"Why?"  she  asked  in  wonder. 

"  Because  you'd  have  believed  what  they  told  you, 
and  Cariboo  Meadows  can't  tell  anything  about  me  that 
isn't  bad,"  he  said  quietly.  "  My  record  there  makes 
me  entirely  unfit  to  associate  with  —  that  would  have 


A   LITTLE   PERSONAL   HISTORY      123 

been  jour  conclusion.  And  I  wanted  to  be  with  you, 
to  talk  to  you,  to  take  you  by  storm  and  make  you  like 
me  as  I  felt  I  could  care  for  you.  You  can't  have 
grown  up,  little  person,  without  realizing  that  you  do 
attract  men  very  strongly.  All  women  do,  but  some 
far  more  than  others." 

"  Perhaps,"   she  admitted  coldly.     "  Men  have   an 
noyed  me  with  their  unwelcome  attentions.      But  none 
of  them  ever  dared  go  the  length  of  carrying  me  away    y 
against  my  will.     You  can't  explain  or  excuse  that."  ** 

"  I'm  not  attempting  excuses,"  Bill  made  answer. 
"  There  are  two  things  I  never  do  —  apologize  or  bully. 
I  dare  say  that's  one  reason  the  Meadows  gives  me  such 
a  black  eye.  In  the  first  place,  the  confounded,  ig 
norant  fools  did  me  a  very  great  injustice,  and  I've 
never  taken  the  trouble  to  explain  to  them  wherein  they 
were  wrong.  I  came  into  this  country  with  a  partner 
six  years  ago  —  a  white  man,  if  ever  one  lived  — •  about 
the  only  real  man  friend  I  ever  had.  He  was  known  to 
have  over  three  thousand  dollars  on  his  person.  He 
took  sick  and  died  the  second  year,  at  the  head  of  the 
Peace,  in  midwinter.  I  buried  him;  couldn't  take  him 
out.  Somehow  the  yarn  got  to  going  in  the  Meadows 
that  I'd  murdered  him  for  his  money.  The  gossip 
started  there  because  we  had  an  argument  about  out-- 
fitting  while  we  were  there,  and  roasted  each  other  as 
only  real  pals  can.  So  they  got  it  into  their  heads  I 
killed  him,  and  tried  to  have  the  provincial  police  in 
vestigate.  It  made  me  hot,  and  so  I  wouldn't  explain 
to  anybody  the  circumstances,  nor  what  became  of 
Dave's  three  thousand,  which  happened  to  be  five  thou- 


I24  NORTH    OF    FIFTY-THREE 

sand  by  that  time,  and  which  I  sent  to  his  mother  and 
sister  in  New  York,  as  he  told  me  to  do  when  he  was 
dying.  When  they  got  to  hinting  things  the  next  time 
I  hit  the  Meadows,  I  started  in  to  clean  out  the  town. 
I  think  I  whipped  about  a  dozen  men  that  time.  And 
once  or  twice  every  season  since  I've  been  in  the  habit 
of  dropping  in  there  and  raising  the  very  devil  out  of 
sheer  resentment.  It's  a  wonder  some  fellow  hasn't 
killed  me,  for  it's  a  fact  that  I've  thrashed  every  man 
in  the  blamed  place  except  Jim  Briggs  —  and  some  of 
them  two  or  three  times.  And  I  make  them  line  up  at 
the  bar  and  drink  at  my  expense,  and  all  that  sort  of 
foolishness. 

"  That  may  sound  to  you  like  real  depravity,"  he 
concluded,  "  but  it's  a  fact  in  nature  that  a  man  has 
to  blow  the  steam  off  his  chest  about  every  so  often.  I 
have  got  drunk  in  Cariboo  Meadows,  and  I  have  raised 
all  manner  of  disturbances  there,  partly  out  of  pure 
animal  spirits,  and  mostly  because  I  had  a  grudge 
against  them.  Consequently  I  really  have  given  them 
reason  to  look  askance  at  any  one  —  particularly  a  nice 
girl  from  the  East  —  who  would  have  anything  to  do 
with  me.  If  they  weren't  a  good  deal  afraid  of  me,  and 
always  laying  for  a  chance  to  do  me  up,  they  wouldn't 
let  me  stay  in  the  town  overnight.  So  you  can  see  what 
a  handicap  I  was  under  when  it  came  to  making  your 
acquaintance  and  courting  you  in  the  orthodox  man 
ner." 

"  You've  made  a  great  mistake,"  she  said  bitterly, 
"  if  you  think  you've  removed  the  handicap.  I've  suf 
fered  a  great  deal  at  the  hands  of  men  in  the  past  six 


A   LITTLE   PERSONAL    HISTORY       125 

months.  I'm  beginning  to  believe  that  all  men  are 
brutes  at  heart." 

Roaring  Bill  sat  up  and  clasped  his  hands  over  his 
knees  and  stared  fixedly  into  the  fire. 

"  No/'  he  said  slowly,  "  all  men  are  not  brutes  — 
any  more  than  all  women  are  angels.  I'll  convince  you 
of  that." 

"  Take  me  home,  then,"  she  cried  forlornly.  "  That's 
the  only  way  you  can  convince  me  or  make  amends." 

"  No,"  Bill  murmured,  "  that  isn't  the  way.  Wait 
till  you  know  me  better.  Besides,  I  couldn't  take  you 
out  now  if  I  wanted  to  without  exposing  you  to  greater 
hardships  than  you'll  have  to  endure  here.  Do  you 
realize  that  it's  fall,  and  we're  in  the  high  latitudes? 
This  snow  may  not  go  off  at  all.  Even  if  it  does  it 
will  storm  again  before  a  week.  You  couldn't  wallow 
through  snow  to  your  waist  in  forty-below-zero 
weather." 

"  People  will  pass  here,  and  I'll  get  word  out,"  Hazel 
asserted  desperately. 

"  What  good  would  that  do  you  ?  You've  got  too 
much  conventional  regard  for  what  you  term  your 
reputation  to  send  word  to  Cariboo  Meadows  that  you're 
living  back  here  with  Roaring  Bill  Wagstaff,  and  won't 
some  one  please  come  and  rescue  you."  He  paused  to 
let  that  sink  in,  then  continued :  "  Besides,  you  won't 
see  a  white  face  before  spring;  then  only  by  accident. 
No  one  in  the  North,  outside  of  a  few  Indians,  has  ever 
seen  this  cabin  or  knows  where  it  stands." 

She  sat  there,  dumb,  raging  inwardly.  For  the  min 
ute  she  could  have  killed  Roaring  Bill.  She  who  had 


126          NORTH   OF   FIFTY-THREE 

been  so  sure  in  her  independence  carried,  whether  or 
no,  into  the  heart  of  the  wilderness  at  the  whim  of  a  man 
who  stood  a  self-confessed  rowdy,  in  ill  repute  among 
his  own  kind.  There  was  a  slumbering  devil  in  Miss 
Hazel  Weir,  and  it  took  little  to  wake  her  temper.  She 
looked  at  Bill  Wagstaff,  and  her  breast  heaved.  He 
was  responsible,  and  he  could  sit  coolly  talking  about 
it.  The  resentment  that  had  smoldered  against  An 
drew  Bush  and  Jack  Barrow  concentrated  on  Roaring 
Bill  as  the  arch  offender  of  them  all.  And  lest  she 
yield  to  a  savage  impulse  to  scream  at  him,  she  got  up 
and  ran  into  the  bedroom,  slammed  the  door  shut  be 
hind  her,  and  threw  herself  across  the  bed  to  muffle  the 
sound  of  her  crying  in  a  pillow. 

After  a  time  she  lifted  her  head.  Outside,  the  wind 
whistled  gustily  around  the  cabin  corners.  In  the 
hushed  intervals  she  heard  a  steady  pad,  pad,  sound 
ing  sometimes  close  by  her  door,  again  faintly  at  the 
far  end  of  the  room.  A  beam  of  light  shone  through 
the  generous  latchstring  hole  in  the  door.  Stealing 
softly  over,  she  peeped  through  this  hole.  From  end 
to  end  of  the  big  room  and  back  again  Roaring  Bill 
paced  slowly,  looking  straight  ahead  of  him  with  a  fixed, 
absent  stare,  his  teeth  closed  on  his  nether  lip.  Hazel 
blinked  wonderingly.  Many  an  hour  in  the  last  three 
months  she  had  walked  the  floor  like  that,  biting  her 
lip  in  mental  agony.  And  then,  while  she  was  looking, 
Bill  abruptly  extinguished  the  candles.  In  the  red 
gleam  from  the  hearth  she  saw  him  go  into  the  kitchen, 
closing  the  door  softly.  After  that  there  was  no  sound 
but  the  swirl  of  the  storm  brushing  at  her  window. 


CHAPTER  XI 

WINTER AND    A    TRUCE 

In  line  with  Roaring  Bill's  forecast,  the  weather 
cleared  for  a  brief  span,  and  then  winter  shut  down  in 
earnest.  Successive  falls  of  snow  overlaid  the  earth 
with  a  three-foot  covering,  loose  and  feathery  in  the 
depths  of  the  forest,  piled  in  hard,  undulating  windrows 
in  the  scattered  openings.  Daily  the  cold  increased, 
till  a  half-inch  layer  of  frost  stood  on  the  cabin  panes. 
The  cold,  intense,  unremitting,  lorded  it  over  a  vast 
realm  of  wood  and  stream ;  lakes  and  rivers  were  locked 
fast  under  ice,  and  through  the  clear,  still  nights  the 
aurora  flaunted  its  shimmering  banners  across  the 
northern  sky. 

But  within  the  cabin  they  were  snug  and  warm. 
Bill's  ax  kept  the  woodpile  high.  The  two  fireplaces 
shone  red  the  twenty-four  hours  through.  Of  flour, 
tea,  coffee,  sugar,  beans,  and  such  stuff  as  could  only 
be  gotten  from  the  outside  he  had  a  plentiful  supply. 
Potatoes  and  certain  vegetables  that  he  had  grown  in  a 
cultivated  patch  behind  the  cabin  were  stored  in  a  deep 
cellar.  He  could  always  sally  forth  and  get  meat. 
'And  the  ice  was  no  bar  to  fishing,  for  he  would  cut  a 
hole,  sink  a  small  net,  and  secure  overnight  a  week's 
supply  of  trout  and  whitefish.  Thus  their  material 
wants  were  provided  for. 


128  NORTH    OF    FIFTY-THREE 

As  time  passed  Hazel  gradually  shook  off  a  measure 
of  her  depression,  thrust  her  uneasiness  and  resentment 
into  the  background.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  she  resigned 
herself  to  getting  through  the  winter,  since  that  was  in 
evitable.  She  was  out  of  the  world,  the  only  world  she 
knew,  and  by  reason  of  the  distance  and  the  snows  there 
was  scant  chance  of  getting  back  to  that  world  while 
winter  gripped  the  North.  The  spring  might  bring 
salvation.  But  spring  was  far  in  the  future,  too  far 
ahead  to  dwell  upon.  As  much  as  possible,  she  re 
frained  from  thinking,  wisely  contenting  herself  with 
getting  through  one  day  after  another. 

And  in  so  doing  she  fell  into  the  way  of  doing  little 
things  about  the  house,  finding  speedily  that  time  flew 
when  she  busied  herself  at  some  task  in  the  intervals  of 
delving  in  Roaring  Bill's  library. 

She  could  cook  —  and  she  did.  Her  first  meal  came 
about  by  grace  of  Roaring  Bill's  absence.  He  was  hunt 
ing,  and  supper  time  drew  nigh.  She  grew  hungry, 
and,  on  the  impulse  of  the  moment,  turned  herself  loose 
in  the  kitchen  —  largely  in  a  mood  for  experiment. 
She  had  watched  Bill  make  all  manner  of  things  in  his 
Dutch  ovens,  and  observed  how  he  prepared  meat  over 
the  glowing  coals  often  enough  to  get  the  hang  of  it. 
Wherefore,  her  first  meal  was  a  success.  When  Roar 
ing  Bill  came  in,  an  hour  after  dark,  he  found  her  with 
cheeks  rosy  from  leaning  over  the  fire,  and  a  better  meal 
than  he  could  prepare  all  waiting  for  him.  He  washed 
and  sat  down.  Hazel  discarded  her  flour-sack  apron 
and  took  her  place  opposite.  Bill  made  no  comment 
until  he  had  finished  and  lighted  a  cigarette. 


WINTER  —  AND    A   TRUCE  129 

"You're  certainly  a  jewel,  little  person,"  he  drawled 
then.  "  How  many  more  accomplishments  have  you 
got  up  your  sleeve  ?  " 

"  Do  you  consider  ordinary  cooking  an  accomplish 
ment?  "  she  returned  lightly. 

"  I  surely  do,"  he  replied,  "  when  I  remember  what 
an  awful  mess  I  made  of  it  on  the  start.  I  certainly  did' 
spoil  ?  lot  of  good  grub." 

After  that  they  divided  the  household  duties,  and 
Hazel  forgot  that  she  had  vowed  to  make  Bill  Wagstaff 
wait  on  her  hand  and  foot  as  the  only  penalty  she  could 
inflict  for  his  misdeeds.  It  seemed  petty  when  she  con 
sidered  the  matter,  and  there  was  nothing  petty  about 
Hazel  Weir.  If  the  chance  ever  offered,  she  would 
make  him  suffer,  but  in  the  meantime  there  was  no  use 
in  being  childish. 

She  did  not  once  experience  the  drear  loneliness  that 
had  sat  on  her  like  a  dead  weight  the  last  month  before 
she  turned  her  back  on  Granville  and  its  unhappy  as 
sociations.  For  one  thing,  Bill  Wagstaff  kept  her  in 
tellectually  on  the  jump.  He  was  always  precipitat 
ing  an  argument  or  discussion  of  some  sort,  in  which 
she  invariably  came  off  second  best.  His  scope  of 
knowledge  astonished  her,  as  did  his  language.  Bill 
mixed  slang,  the  colloquialisms  of  the  frontier,  and  the 
terminology  of  modern  scientific  thought  with  quaint 
impartiality.  There  were  times  when  he  talked  clear 
over  her  head.  And  he  was  by  turns  serious  and  boy 
ish,  with  always  a  saving  sense  of  humor.  So  that  she 
was  eternally  discovering  new  sides  to  him. 

The  other  refuge  for  her  was  his   store  of  books. 


130  NORTH    OF    FIFTY-THREE 

Upon  the  shelves  she  found  many  a  treasure-trove  — < 
books  that  she  had  promised  herself  to  read  some  day 
when  she  could  buy  them  and  had  leisure.  Roaring  Bill 
had  collected  bits  of  the  world's  best  in  poetry  and  fic 
tion;  and  last,  but  by  no  means  least,  the  books  that 
stand  for  evolution  and  revolution,  philosophy,  eco 
nomics,  sociology,  and  the  kindred  sciences.  Bill  was 
not  orderly.  He  could  put  his  finger  on  any  book  he 
wanted,  but  on  his  shelves  like  as  not  she  would  find 
a  volume  of  Haeckel  and  another  of  Bobbie  Burns  side 
by  side,  or  a  last  year's  novel  snuggling  up  against  a 
treatise  on  social  psychology.  She  could  not  under 
stand  why  a  man  —  a  young  man  —  with  the  intellectual 
capacity  to  digest  the  stuff  that  Roaring  Bill  frequently 
became  immersed  in  should  choose  to  bury  himself  in 
the  wilderness.  And  once,  in  an  unguarded  moment, 
she  voiced  that  query.  Bill  closed  a  volume  of  Nietz 
sche,  marking  the  place  with  his  forefinger,  and  looked 
at  her  thoughtfully  over  the  book. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  there  are  one  or  two  good  and 
sufficient  reasons,  to  which  you,  of  course,  may  not 
agree.  First,  though,  I'll  venture  to  assert  that  your 
idea  of  the  nature  and  purpose  of  life  as  we  humans 
know  and  experience  it  is  rather  hazy.  Have  you  ever 
seriously  asked  yourself  why  we  exist  as  entities  at  all? 
And,  seeing  that  we  do  find  ourselves  possessed  of  this 
existence,  what  constrains  us  to  act  along  certain 
lines?" 

Haael  shook  her  head.  That  was  an  abstraction 
which  she  had  never  considered.  She  had  been  too  busy 
living  to  make  a  critical  analysis  of  life.  She  had 


WINTER  — AND   A   TRUCE  131 

the  average  girl's  conception  of  life,  when  she  thought 
of  it  at  all,  as  a  state  of  being  born,  of  growing  up,  of 
marrying,  of  trying  to  be  happy,  and  ultimately — • 
very  remotely  —  of  dying.  And  she  had  also  the  con 
ventional  idea  that  activity  in  the  world,  the  world  as 
she  knew  it,  the  doing  of  big  things  in  a  public  or  semi- 
public  way,  was  the  proper  sphere  for  people  of  ex 
ceptional  ability.  But  why  this  should  be  so,  what 
law,  natural  or  fabricated  by  man,  made  it  so  she  had 
never  asked  herself.  She  had  found  it  so,  and  taken 
it  for  granted.  Roaring  Bill  Wagstaff  was  the  first 
man  to  cross  her  path  who  viewed  the  struggle  for 
wealth  and  fame  and  power  as  other  than  inevitable 
and  desirable. 

"  You  see,  little  person,"  he  went  on,  "  we  have  som€ 
very  definite  requirements  which  come  of  the  will 
to  live  that  dominates  all  life.  We  must  eat, 
we  must  protect  our  bodies  against  the  elements,  and 
we  need  for  comfort  some  sort  of  shelter.  But  in  se 
curing  these  essentials  to  self-preservation  where  is  the 
difference,  except  in  method,  between  the  banker  who  ma 
nipulates  millions  and  the  post-hole  digger  on  the  farm? 
Not  a  darned  bit,  in  reality.  They're  both  after  ex 
actly  the  same  thing  —  security  against  want.  If  the 
post-hole  digger's  wants  are  satisfied  by  two  dollars  a 
day  he  is  getting  the  same  result  as  the  banker,  whose 
standard  of  living  crowds  his  big  income.  Having  se 
cured  the  essentials,  then,  what  is  the  next  urge  of  life? 
Happiness.  That,  however,  brings  us  to  a  more  ab 
stract  question. 

"  In  the  main,  though,  that's  my   answer  to  your 


132  NORTH    OF    FIFTY-THREE 

question.  Here  I  can  secure  myself  a  good  living—* 
as  a  matter  of  fact,  I  can  easily  get  the  wherewithal  to 
purchase  any  luxuries  that  I  desire  —  and  it  is  gotten 
without  a  petty-larceny  struggle  with  my  fellow  men. 
Here  I  exploit  only  natural  resources,  take  only  what 
the  earth  has  prodigally  provided.  Why  should  I  live 
in  the  smoke  and  sordid  clutter  of  a  town  when  I  love 
the  clean  outdoors?  The  best  citizen  is  the  man  with 
a  sound  mind  and  a  strong,  healthy  body ;  and  the  only 
obligation  any  of  us  has  to  society  is  not  to  be  a  bur 
den  on  society.  So  I  live  in  the  wilds  the  greater  part 
of  the  year,  I  keep  my  muscles  in  trim,  and  I  have  al 
ways  food  for  myself  and  for  any  chance  wayfarer — • 
and  I  can  look  everybody  in  the  eye  and  tell  them  to 
go  to  the  fiery  regions  if  I  happen  to  feel  that  way. 
What  business  would  I  have  running  a  grocery  store, 
or  a  bank,  or  a  real-estate  office,  when  all  my  instincts 
rebel  against  it?  What  normal  being  wants  to  be 
chained  to  a  desk  between  four  walls  eight  or  ten  hours 
a  day  fifty  weeks  in  the  year?  I'll  bet  a  nickel  there 
was  many  a  time  when  you  were  clacking  a  typewriter 
for  a  living  that  you'd  have  given  anything  to  get  out 
in  the  green  fields  for  a  while.  Isn't  that  so  ?  " 

Hazel  admitted  it. 

"  You  see,"  Bill  concluded,  "  this  civilization  of  ours, 
with  its  peculiar  business  ethics,  and  its  funny  little  air 
of  importance,  is  a  comparatively  recent  thing  —  a 
product  of  the  last  two  or  three  thousand  years,  to  give 
it  its  full  historic  value.  And  mankind  has  been  a  great 
many  millions  of  years  in  the  making,  all  of  which  has 
been  spent  under  primitive  conditions.  So  that  we  are 


WINTER  — AND    A    TRUCE  133 

as  yet  barbarians,  savages  even,  with  just  a  little 
veneer.  Why,  man,  as  such,  is  only  beginning  to  get  a 
glimmering  of  his  relation  to  the  universe.  Pshaw, 
though!  I  didn't  set  out  to  deliver  a  lecture  on  evolu 
tion.  But,  believe  me,  little  person,  if  I  thought  that 
iany  great  good  or  happiness  would  result  from  my  be 
ting  elsewhere,  from  scrapping  with  my  fellows  in  the 
world  crush,  I'd  be  there  with  both  feet.  Do  you  think 
you'd  be  more  apt  to  care  for  me  if  I  were  to  get  out 
and  try  to  set  the  world  afire  with  great  deeds?  " 

"  That  wasn't  the  question,"  she  returned  distantly, 
trying,  as  she  always  did,  to  keep  him  off  the  personal 
note. 

"  But  it  is  the  question  with  me,"  he  declared.  "  I 
don't  know  why  I  let  you  go  on  flouting  me."  He 
reached  over  and  caught  her  arm  with  a  grip  that  made 
her  wince.  The  sudden  leap  of  passion  into  his  eyes 
quickened  the  beat  of  her  heart.  "  I  could  break  you 
in  two  with  my  hands  without  half  trying  —  tame  you 
as  the  cave  men  tamed  their  women,  by  main  strength. 
But  I  don't  —  by  reason  of  the  same  peculiar  feeling 
that  would  keep  me  from  kicking  a  man  when  he  was 
down,  I  suppose.  Little  person,  why  can't  you  like  me 
better?  " 

"  Because  you  tricked  me,"  she  retorted  hotly. 
"  Because  I  trusted  you,  and  you  used  that  trust  to 
lead  me  farther  astray.  Any  woman  would  hate  a  man 
for  that.  What  do  you  suppose  —  you,  with  your 
knowledge  of  life  —  the  world  will  think  of  me  when  I 
get  out  of  here  ?  " 

But  Roaring  Bill  had  collected  himself,  and  sat  smil- 


134  NORTH    OF   FIFTY-THREE 

ing,  and  made  no  reply.  He  looked  at  her  thoughtfully 
for  a  few  seconds,  then  resumed  his  reading  of  the 
Mad  Philosopher,  out  of  whose  essays  he  seemed  to  ex 
tract  a  great  deal  of  quiet  amusement. 

A  day  or  two  after  that  Hazel  came  into  the  kitchen 
and  found  Bill  piling  towels,  napkins,  and  a  great 
quantity  of  other  soiled  articles  on  an  outspread  table 
cloth. 

"  Well,"  she  inquired,  "  what  are  you  going  to  do 
with  those?" 

"  Take  'em  to  the  laundry,"  he  laughed.  "  Collect 
your  dirty  duds,  and  bring  them  forth." 

"  Laundry !  "  Hazel  echoed.  It  seemed  rather  a  far 
fetched  joke. 

"  Sure !  You  don't  suppose  we  can  get  along  for 
ever  without  having  things  washed,  do  you?  "  he  re 
plied.  "  I  don't  mind  housework,  but  I  do  draw  the 
line  at  a  laundry  job  when  I  don't  have  to  do  it.  Go 
on  —  get  your  clothes." 

So  she  brought  out  her  accumulation  of  garments, 
and  laid  them  on  the  pile.  Bill  tied  up  the  four  cor 
ners  of  the  tablecloth. 

"  Now,"  said  he,  M  let's  see  if  we  can't  fit  you  out 
for  a  more  or  less  extended  walk.  You  stay  in  th« 
house  altogether  too  much  these  days.  That's  bad  busi 
ness.  Nothing  like  exercise  in  the  fresh  air." 

Thus  in  a  few  minutes  Hazel  fared  forth,  wrapped  in 
Bill's  fur  coat,  a  flap-eared  cap  on  her  head,  and  on  her 
feet  several  pairs  of  stockings  inside  moccasins  that 
Bill  had  procured  from  some  mysterious  source  a  day 
or  two  before. 


WINTER  — AND    A    TRUCE  135 

The  day  was  sunny,  albeit  the  air  was  hazy  with  mul 
titudes  of  floating  frost  particles,  and  the  tramp  through 
the  forest  speedily  brought  the  roses  back  to  her  cheeks. 
Bill  carried  the  bundle  of  linen  on  his  back,  and  trudged 
steadily  through  the  woods.  But  the  riddle  of  his  des 
tination  was  soon  read  to  her,  for  a  two-mile  walk 
brought  them  out  on  the  shore  of  a  fair-sized  lake,  on 
the  farther  side  of  which  loomed  the  conical  lodges  of 
an  Indian  camp. 

"  You  sabe  now  ?  "  said  he  as  they  crossed  the  ice. 
*'  This  bunch  generally  comes  in  here  about  this  time, 
and  stays  till  spring.  I  get  the  squaws  to  wash  for 
me.  Ever  see  Mr.  Indian  on  his  native  heath?  " 

Hazel  never  had,  and  she  was  duly  interested,  even 
if  a  trifle  shy  of  the  red  brother  who  stared  so  fixedly. 
She  entered  a  lodge  with  Bill,  and  listened  to  him  make 
laundry  arrangements  in  broken  English  with  a  with 
ered  old  beldame  whose  features  resembled  a  ham  that 
had  hung  overlong  in  the  smokehouse.  Two  or  three 
blanketed  bucks  squatted  by  the  fire  that  sent  its  blue 
smoke  streaming  out  the  apex  of  the  lodge. 

"  Heap  fine  squaw ! "  one  suddenly  addressed  Bill. 
"  Where  you  ketchum  ?  " 

Bill  laughed  at  Hazel's  confusion.  "  Away  off." 
He  gestured  southward,  and  the  Indian  grunted  some 
unintelligible  remark  in  his  own  tongue  —  at  which 
Roaring  Bill  laughed  again. 

Before  they  started  home  Bill  succeeded  in  purchas 
ing,  after  much  talk,  a  pair  of  moccasins  that  Hazel 
conceded  to  be  a  work  of  art,  what  with  the  dainty  pat 
tern  of  beads  and  the  ornamentation  of  colored  porcu- 


NORTH    OF    FIFTY-THREE 

pine  quills.  Her  feminine  soul  could  not  cavil  when 
Bill  thrust  them  in  the  pocket  of  her  coat,  even  if  her 
mind  was  set  against  accepting  any  peace  tokens  at  his 
hands. 

And  so  in  the  nearing  sunset  they  went  home  through 
the  frost-bitten  woods,  where  the  snow  crunched  and 
squeaked  under  their  feet,  and  the  branches  broke  off 
with  a  pistol-like  snap  when  they  were  bent  aside. 

A  hundred  yards  from  the  cabin  Bill  challenged  her 
to  a  race.  She  refused  to  run,  and  he  picked  her  up 
bodily,  and  ran  with  her  to  the  very  door.  He  held 
her  a  second  before  he  set  her  down,  and  Hazel's  face 
whitened.  She  could  feel  his  breath  on  her  cheek,  and 
she  could  feel  his  arms  quiver,  and  the  rapid  beat  of 
his  heart.  For  an  instant  she  thought  Roaring  Bill 
Wagstaff  was  about  to  make  the  colossal  mistake  of 
trying  to  kiss  her. 

But  he  set  her  gently  on  her  feet  and  opened  the  door. 
And  by  the  time  he  had  his  heavy  outer  clothes  off  and 
the  fires  started  up  he  was  talking  whimsically  about 
their  Indian  neighbors,  and  Hazel  breathed  more  freely. 
The  clearest  impression  that  she  had,  aside  from  her 
brief  panic,  was  of  his  strength.  He  had  run  with  her 
as  easily  as  if  she  had  been  a  child. 

After  that  they  went  out  many  times  together.  Bill 
took  her  hunting,  initiated  her  into  the  mysteries  of 
rifle  shooting,  and  the  manipulation  of  a  six-shooter. 
He  taught  her  to  walk  on  snowshoes,  lightly  over  the 
surface  of  the  crusted  snow,  through  which  otherwise 
she  floundered.  A  sort  of  truce  arose  between  them, 
and  the  days  drifted  by  without  untoward  incident. 


WINTER  — AND    A   TRUCE  137 

Bill  tended  to  his  horses,  chopped  wood,  carried  water. 
She  took  upon  herself  the  care  of  the  house.  And 
through  the  long  evenings,  in  default  of  conversation, 
they  would  sit  with  a  book  on  either  side  of  the  fireplace 
that  roared  defiance  to  the  storm  gods  without. 

And  sometimes  Hazel  would  find  herself  wondering 
why  Roaring  Bill  Wagstaff  could  not  have  come  into  her 
life  in  a  different  manner.  As  it  was  —  she  never? 
never  would  forgive  him. 


CHAPTER  XH 


There  came  a  day  when  the  metallic  brilliancy  went 
out  of  the  sky,  and  it  became  softly,  mistily  blue.  All 
that  forenoon  Hazel  prowled  restlessly  out  of  doors 
without  cap  or  coat.  There  was  a  new  feel  in  the  air. 
The  deep  winter  snow  had  suddenly  lost  its  harshness. 
A  tentative  stillness  wrapped  the  North  as  if  the  land 
rested  a  moment,  gathering  its  force  for  some  titanic 
effort. 

Toward  evening  a  mild  breeze  freshened  from  the 
southwest.  The  tender  blue  of  the  sky  faded  at  sun 
down  to  a  slaty  gray.  Long  wraiths  of  cloud  floated 
up  with  the  rising  wind.  At  ten  o'clock  a  gale  whooped 
riotously  through  the  trees.  And  at  midnight  Hazel 
wakened  to  a  sound  that  she  had  not  heard  in  months. 
She  rose  and  groped  her  way  to  the  window.  The  en 
crusting  frost  had  vanished  from  the  panes.  They 
were  wet  to  the  touch  of  her  fingers.  She  unhooked 
the  fastening,  and  swung  the  window  out.  A  great  gust/ 
of  damp,  warm  wind  blew  strands  of  hair  across  her 
face.  She  leaned  through  the  casement,  and  drops  of 
cold  water  struck  her  bare  neck.  That  which  she  had 
heard  was  the  dripping  eaves.  The  chinook  wind 
droned  its  spring  song,  and  the  bare  boughs  of  the  tree 
beside  the  cabin  waved  and  creaked  the  time.  Some- 


THE   FIRES   OF   SPRING  139 

where  distantly  a  wolf  lifted  up  his  voice,  and  the  long, 
throaty  howl  swelled  in  a  lull  of  the  wind.  It  was  black 
and  ghostly  outside,  and  strange,  murmuring  sounds 
rose  and  fell  in  the  surrounding  forests,  as  though  all 
the  dormant  life  of  the  North  was  awakening  at  the  sea 
sonal  change.  She  closed  the  window  and  went  back 
to  bed. 

At  dawn  the  eaves  had  ceased  their  drip,  and  the  dirt 
roof  laid  bare  to  the  cloud-banked  sky.  From  the 
southwest  the  wind  still  blew  strong  and  warm.  The 
thick  winter  garment  of  the  earth  softened  to  slush, 
and  vanished  with  amazing  swiftness.  Streams  of  wa 
ter  poured  down  every  depression.  Pools  stood  between 
the  house  and  stable.  Spring  had  leaped  strong-armed 
upon  old  Winter  and  vanquished  him  at  the  first  on 
slaught. 

All  that  day  the  chinook  blew,  working  its  magic 
upon  the  land.  When  day  broke  again  with  a  clear 
ing  sky,  and  the  sun  peered  between  the  cloud  rifts, 
his  beams  fell  upon  vast  areas  of  brown  and  green, 
where  but  forty-eight  hours  gone  there  was  the  cold 
revelry  of  frost  sprites  upon  far-flung  fields  of  snow. 
Patches  of  earth  steamed  wherever  a  hillside  lay  bare 
to  the  sun.  From  some  mysterious  distance  a  lone 
crow  winged  his  way,  and,  perching  on  a  near-by  tree- 
top,  cawed  raucous  greeting. 

Hazel  cleared  away  the  breakfast  things,  and  stood 
looking  out  the  kitchen  window.  Roaring  Bill  sat  on 
a  log,  shirt-sleevecl,  smoking  his  pipe.  Presently  he 
went  over  to  the  stable,  led  out  his  horses,  and  gave 
them  their  liberty.  For  twenty  minutes  or  so  he  stood 


i4o  NORTH    OF   FIFTY-THREE 

watching  their  mad  capers  as  they  ran  and  leaped  and 
pranced  back  and  forth  over  the  clearing.  Then  he 
walked  off  into  the  timber,  his  rifle  over  one  shoulder. 

Hazel  washed  her  dishes  and  went  outside.  The  cabin 
sat  on  a  benchlike  formation,  a  shoulder  of  the  moun 
tain  behind,  and  she  could  look  away  westward  across 
miles  and  miles  of  timber,  darkly  green  and  merging 
into  purple  in  the  distance.  It  was  a  beautiful  land 
• —  and  lonely.  She  did  not  know  why,  but  all  at  once 
a  terrible  feeling  of  utter  forlornness  seized  her.  It 
was  spring  —  and  also  it  was  spring  in  other  lands. 
The  wilderness  suddenly  took  on  the  characteristics  of 
a  prison,  in  which  she  was  sentenced  to  solitary  confine 
ment.  She  rebelled  against  it,  rebelled  against  her 
surroundings,  against  the  manner  of  her  being  there, 
against  everything.  She  hated  the  North,  she  wished 
to  be  gone  from  it,  and  most  of  all  she  hated  Bill  Wag- 
staff  for  constraining  her  presence  there.  In  six 
months  she  had  not  seen  a  white  face,  nor  spoken  to  a 
woman  of  her  own  blood.  Out  beyond  that  sea  of  for 
est  lay  the  big,  active  world  in  which  she  belonged,  of 
which  she  was  a  part,  and  she  felt  that  she  must  get 
somewhere,  do  something,  or  go  mad. 

All  the  heaviness  of  heart,  all  the  resentment  she  had 
felt  in  the  first  few  days  when  she  followed  him  per 
force  away  from  Cariboo  Meadows,  came  back  to  her 
with  redoubled  force  that  forenoon.  She  went  back  into 
the  house,  now  gloomy  without  a  fire,  slumped  for 
lornly  into  a  chair,  and  cried  herself  into  a  condition 
approaching  hysteria.  And  she  was  sitting  there,  her 
head  bowed  on  her  hands,  when  Bill  returned  from  his 


THE    FIRES    OF   SPRING  141 

hunting.  The  sun  sent  a  shaft  through  the  south  win 
dow,  a  shaft  which  rested  on  her  drooping  head.  Roar 
ing  Bill  walked  softly  up  behind  her  and  put  his  hand 
on  her  shoulder. 

"  What  is  it,  little  person  ?  "  he  asked  gently. 

She  refused  to  answer. 

"  Say,"  he  bent  a  little  lower,  "  you  know  what  the 
Tentmaker  said: 

***Come  fill  the  cup,  and  in  the  fire  of  Spring 
Your  Winter  garment  of  Repentance  fling; 

The  Bird  of  Time  has  but  a  little  way 
To  flutter  —  and  the  Bird  is  on  the  Wing.' 

"  Life's  too  short  to  waste  any  of  it  in  being  use 
lessly  miserable.  Come  on  out  and  go  for  a  ride  on 
Silk.  I'll  take  you  up  on  a  mountainside,  and  show 
you  a  waterfall  that  leaps  three  hundred  feet  in  the 
clear.  The  woods  are  waking  up  and  putting  on  their 
Easter  bonnets.  There's  beauty  everywhere.  Come 
along!" 

She  wrenched  herself   away   from  him. 

"  I  want  to  go  home !  "  she  wailed.  "  I  hate  you  and 
the  North,  and  everything  in  it.  If  you've  got  a  spark 
of  manhood  left  in  you,  you'll  take  me  out  of  here." 

Roaring  Bill  backed  away  from  her.  "  Do  you  mean 
that?  Honest  Injun?"  he  asked  incredulously. 

"  I  do  —  I  do !  "  she  cried  vehemently.  "  Haven't 
I  told  you  often  enough?  I  didn't  come  here  willingly, 
and  I  won't  stay.  I  will  not !  I  have  a  right  to  live 
my  life  in  my  own  way,  and  it's  not  this  way." 

"  So,"  Roaring  Bill  began  evenly,  "  springtime  with 


i42  NORTH    OF   FIFTY-THREE 

you  only  means  getting  back  to  work.  You  want  to 
get  back  into  the  muddled  rush  of  peopled  places,  do 
you?  For  what?  To  teach  a  class  in  school,  or  to 
be  some  business  shark's  slave  of  the  typewriter  at  ten 
dollars  a  week?  You  want  to  be  where  you  can  as 
sociate  with  fluffy-ruffle,  pompadoured  girls,  and  be 
properly  introduced  to  equally  proper  young  men. 
Lord,  but  I  seem  to  have  made  a  mistake !  And,  by  the 
same  token,  I'll  probably  pay  for  it  —  in  a  way  you 
wouldn't  understand  if  you  lived  a  thousand  years. 
Well,  set  your  mind  at  rest.  Ill  take  you  out.  I'll 
take  you  back  to  your  stamping-ground  if  that's  what 
you  crave.  Ye  gods  and  little  fishes,  but  I  have  sure 
been  a  fool !  " 

He  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the  table,  and  Hazel 
blinked  at  him,  half  scared,  and  full  of  wonder.  She 
had  grown  so  used  to  seeing  him  calm,  imperturbable, 
smiling  cheerfully  no  matter  what  she  said  or  did,  that 
his  passionate  outbreak  amazed  her.  She  could  only 
sit  and  look  at  him. 

He  got  out  his  cigarette  materials.  But  his  fingers 
trembled,  spilling  the  tobacco.  And  when  he  tore  the 
paper  in  his  efforts  to  roll  it,  he  dashed  paper  and  all 
into  the  fireplace  with  something  that  sounded  like  an 
oath,  and  walked  out  of  the  house.  Nor  did  he  re 
turn  till  the  sun  was  well  down  toward  the  tree-rimmed 
horizon.  When  he  came  back  he  brought  in  an  armful 
of  wood  and  kindling,  and  began  to  build  a  fire.  Hazel 
came  out  of  her  room.  Bill  greeted  her  serenely. 

"  Well,  little  person,"  he  said,  "  I  hope  you'll  perk 
up  now." 


THE   FIRES   OF   SPRING  143 

"  I'll  try,"  she  returned.  "  Are  you  really  going  to 
take  me  out?  " 

Bill  paused  with  a  match  blazing  in  his  fingers. 

"  I'm  not  in  the  habit  of  saying  things  I  don't  mean," 
he  answered  dryly.  "  We'll  start  in  the  morning." 

The  dark  closed  in  on  them,  and  they  cooked  and  ate 
supper  in  silence.  Bill  remained  thoughtful  and  ab 
stracted.  He  slouched  for  a  time  in  his  chair  by  the 
fire.  Then  from  some  place  among  his  books  he  un 
earthed  a  map,  and,  spreading  it  on  the  table,  studied 
it  a  while.  After  that  he  dragged  in  his  kyaks  from 
outside,  and  busied  himself  packing  them  with  supplies 
for  a  journey- — tea  and  coffee  and  flour  and  such' 
things  done  up  in  small  canvas  sacks. 

And  when  these  preparations  were  complete  he  got 
a  sheet  of  paper  and  a  pencil,  and  fell  to  copying  some 
thing  from  the  map.  He  was  still  at  that,  sketching 
and  marking,  when  Hazel  went  to  bed. 

By  all  the  signs  and  tokens,  Roaring  Bill  Wagstaff 
slept  none  that  night.  Hazel  herself  tossed  wakefully, 
and  during  her  wakeful  moments  she  could  hear  him 
stir  in  the  outer  room.  And  a  full  hour  before  day 
light  he  called  her  to  breakfast. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE    OUT    TRAIL 

"  This  time  last  spring,"  Bill  said  to  her,  "  I  was 
piking  away  north  of  those  mountains,  bound  for  the 
head  of  the  Naas  to  prospect  for  gold." 

They  were  camped  in  a  notch  on  the  tiptop  of  a  long 
divide,  a  thousand  feet  above  the  general  level.  A  wide 
valley  rolled  below,  and  from  the  height  they  overlooked 
two  great,  sinuous  lakes  and  a  multitude  of  smaller 
ones.  The  mountain  range  to  which  Bill  pointed  loomed 
seventy  miles  distance,  angling  northwest.  The  sun 
glinted  on  the  snow-capped  peaks,  though  they  them 
selves  were  in  the  shadow. 

"  I've  been  wondering,"  Hazel  said.  "  This  country 
somehow  seems  different.  You're  not  going  back  to 
Cariboo  Meadows,  are  you?  " 

Bill  bestowed  a  look  of  surprise  on  her. 

"I  should  say  not!"  he  drawled.  "Not  that  it 
would  make  any  difference  to  me.  But  I'm  very  sure 
you  don't  want  to  turn  up  there  in  my  company." 

"  That's  true,"  she  observed.  "  But  all  the  clothes 
and  all  the  money  I  have  in  the  world  are  there." 

"  Don't  let  money  worry  you,"  he  said  briefly.  "  I 
have  got  plenty  to  see  you  through.  And  you  can 
easily  buy  clothes." 


THE   OUT   TRAIL  145 

They  were  now  ten  days  on  the  road.  Their  course 
had  lain  across  low,  rolling  country,  bordered  by  rug 
ged  hills,  spotted  with  lakes,  and  cut  here  and  there  by 
streams  that  put  Bill  Wagstaff  to  many  strange  shifts 
in  crossing.  But  upon  leaving  this  camp  they  crossed 
a  short  stretch  of  low  country,  and  then  struck 
straight  into  the  heart  of  a  mountainous  region. 
Steadily  they  climbed,  reaching  up  through  gloomy 
canons  where  foaming  cataracts  spilled  themselves  over 
sheer  walls  of  granite,  where  the  dim  and  narrow  pack 
trail  was  crossed  and  recrossed  with  the  footprints  of 
bear  and  deer  and  the  snowy-coated  mountain  goat. 
The  spring  weather  held  its  own,  and  everywhere  was 
the  pleasant  smell  of  growing  things.  Overhead  the 
wild  duck  winged  his  way  in  aerial  squadrons  to  the 
vast  solitudes  of  the  North. 

Roaring  Bill  lighted  his  evening  fire  at  last  at  the 
apex  of  the  pass.  He  had  traveled  long  after  sun 
down,  seeking  a  camp  ground  where  his  horses  could 
graze.  The  fire  lit  up  huge  firs,  and  high  above  the 
fir  tops  the  sky  was  studded  with  stars,  brilliant  in  the 
thin  atmosphere.  They  ate,  and,  being  weary,  lay 
down  to  sleep.  At  sunrise  Hazel  sat  up  and  looked 
about  her  in  silent,  wondering  appreciation.  All  the 
world  spread  east  and  west  below.  Bill  squatted  by  the 
fire,  piling  on  wood,  and  he  caught  the  expression  on 
her  face. 

"  Isn't  it  great?"  he  said.  "I  ran  across  some 
verses  in  a  magazine  a  long  time  ago.  They  just  fit 
this,  and  they've  been  running  in  my  head  ever  since  I 
woke  up: 


146          NORTH   OF   FIFTY-THREE 

"  *  All  night  long  my  heart  ha*;  cried 

For  the  starry  moors 
And   the   mountain's   ragged   flank 
And  the  plunge  of  oars. 

'Oh,  to  feel  the  Wind  grow  strong 

Where  the  Trail  leaps  down. 
I  could  never  learn  the  way 
And  wisdom  of  the  town. 

'Where  the  hill  heads  split  the  Tide 

Of  green  and  living  air 
I   would  press  Adventure  hard 
To  her  deepest  lair.' 

"  The  last  verse  is  the  best  of  all,"  he  said  thought 
fully.  "  It  has  been  my  litany  ever  since  I  first  read 
it: 

" '  I  would  let  the  world's  rebuke 

Like  a  wind  go  by, 
With  my  naked  soul  laid  bare 
To  the  naked  Sky.' 

"  And  here  you  are,*'  he  murmured,  "  hotfooting  it 
back  to  where  the  world's  rebuke  is  always  in  evidence, 
always  ready  to  sting  you  like  a  hot  iron  if  you  should 
chance  to  transgress  one  of  its  petty-larceny  dictums. 
Well,  you'll  soon  be  there.  Can  you  see  a  glint  of 
blue  away  down  there?  No?  Take  the  glasses." 

She  adjusted  the  binoculars  and  peered  westward! 
from  the  great  height  where  the  camp  sat.  Distantly, 
and  far  below,  the  green  of  the  forest  broke  down  to  a 
hazy  line  of  steel-blue  that  ran  in  turn  to  a  huge  fog 
bank,  snow-white  in  the  rising  sun. 

"  Yes,  I  can  see  it  now,"  she  said.     "  A  lake?  ** 


Hurt?  No,"  he  murmured;  "I'm  just  plain  scared." 
Page  150. 


THE    CUT   TRAIL  147 

"  No.  Salt  water  —  a  long  arm  of  the  Pacific,"  he 
replied.  "  That's  where  you  and  I  part  company  — 
to  your  very  great  relief,  I  dare  say.  But  look  off  in 
the  other  direction.  Lord,  you  can  see  two  hundred 
miles!  If  it  weren't  for  the  Babine  Range  sticking  up 
you  could  look  clear  to  where  my  cabin  stands.  What 
an  outlook!  Tens  of  thousands  of  square  miles  of 
timber  and  lakes  and  rivers !  Sunny  little  valleys ;  fish 
and  game  everywhere;  soil  that  will  grow  anything. 
And  scarcely  a  soul  in  it  all,  barring  here  and  there  a 
fur  post  or  a  stray  prospector.  Yet  human  beings 
by  the  million  herd  in  filthy  tenements,  and  never  see 
a  blade  of  green  grass  the  year  around. 

"  I  told  you,  I  think,  about  prospecting  on  the  head 
of  the  Naas  last  spring.  I  fell  in  with  another  fellow 
up  there,  and  we  worked  together,  and  early  in  the  sea 
son  made  a  nice  little  clean-up  on  a  gravel  bar.  I  have 
another  place  spotted,  by  the  way,  that  would  work 
out  a  fortune  if  a  fellow  wanted  to  spend  a  couple  of 
thousand  putting  in  some  simple  machinery.  However, 
when  the  June  rise  drove  us  off  our  bar,  I  pulled  clear 
out  of  the  country.  Just  took  a  notion  to  see  the 
bright  lights  again.  And  I  didn't  stop  short  of  New 
York.  Do  you  know,  I  lasted  there  just  one  week  by 
the  calendar.  It  seems  funny,  when  you  think  of  it, 
that  a  man  with  three  thousand  dollars  to  spend  should 
get  lonesome  in  a  place  like  New  York.  But  I  did. 
And  at  the  end  of  a  week  I  flew.  The  sole  memento 
of  that  trip  was  a  couple  of  Russell  prints  —  and  a 
very  bad  taste  in  my  mouth.  I  had  all  that  money 
burning  my  pockets  —  and,  all  told,  I  didn't  spend  five 


148  NORTH    OF    FIFTY-THREE 

hundred.  Fancy  a  man  jumping  over  four  thousand 
miles  to  have  a  good  time,  and  then  running  away  from 
it.  It  was  very  foolish  of  me,  I  think  now.  If  I  had 
stuck  and  got  acquainted  with  somebody,  and  taken  in 
all  the  good  music,  the  theaters,  and  the  giddy  cafes  I 
wouldn't  have  got  home  and  blundered  into  Cariboo 
Meadows  at  the  psychological  moment  to  make  a  differ 
ent  kind  of  fool  of  myself.  Well,  the  longer  we  live 
the  more  we  learn.  Day  after  to-morrow  you'll  be  in 
Bella  Coola.  The  cannery  steamships  carry  passengers 
on  a  fairly  regular  schedule  to  Vancouver.  How  does 
that  suit  you?  " 

"  Very  well,"  she  answered  shortly. 

"  And  you  haven't  the  least  twinge  of  regret  at 
leaving  all  this  ?  "  He  waved  his  hand  in  a  compre 
hensive  sweep. 

"  I  don't  happen  to  have  your  peculiar  point  of 
view,"  she  returned.  "  The  circumstances  connected 
with  my  coming  into  this  country  and  with  my  staying 
here  are  such  as  to  make  me  anxious  to  get  away." 

"  Same  old  story,"  Bill  muttered  under  his  breath. 

"  What  is  it?  "  she  asked  sharply. 

"  Oh,  nothing,"  he  said  carelessly,  and  went  on  with 
his  breakfast  preparations. 

They  finished  the  meal.  Bill  got  his  horses  up  be 
side  the  fire,  loading  on  the  packs.  Hazel  sat  on  the 
trunk  of  a  winter-broken  fir,  waiting  his  readiness  to 
start.  She  heard  no  sound  behind  her.  But  she  did 
see  Roaring  Bill  stiffen  and  his  face  blanch  under  its 
tan.  Twenty  feet  away  his  rifle  leaned  against  a  tree ; 
his  belt  and  six-shooter  hung  on  a  limb  above  it.  He 


THE    OUT   TRAIL  149 

was  tucking  a  keen-edged  hatchet  under  the  pack  lash 
ing.  And,  swinging  this  up,  he  jumped  —  it  seemed  — 
straight  at  her.  But  his  eyes  were  fixed  on  something 
beyond. 

Before  she  could  move,  or  even  turn  to  look,  so  sud 
den  was  his  movement,  Bill  was  beside  her.  The  sound 
of  a  crunching  blow  reached  her  ears.  In  the  same  in 
stant  a  heavy  body  collided  with  her,  knocking  her  flat. 
A  great  weight,  a  weight  which  exhaled  a  rank  animal 
odor,  rolled  over  her.  Her  clutching  hands  briefly 
encountered  some  hairy  object.  Then  she  was  slammed 
against  the  fallen  tree  with  a  force  that  momentarily 
stunned  her. 

When  she  opened  her  eyes  again  Roaring  Bill  had 
her  head  in  his  lap,  peering  anxiously  down.  She 
caught  a  glimpse  of  the  unsteady  hand  that  held  a  cup 
of  water,  and  she  struggled  to  a  sitting  posture  with  a 
shudder.  Bill's  shirt  was  ripped  from  the  neckband  to 
the  wrist,  baring  his  sinewy  arm.  And  hand,  arm,  and 
shoulder  were  spattered  with  fresh  blood.  His  face  was 
spotted  where  he  had  smeared  it  with  his  bloody  hand. 
Close  by,  so  close  that  she  could  almost  reach  it,  lay  the 
grayish-black  carcass  of  a  bear,  Bill's  hatchet  buried  in 
the  skull,  as  a  woodsman  leaves  his  ax  blade  stuck  in 
a  log. 

"  Feel  all  right  ?  "  Bill  asked.     His  voice  was  husky* 

"  Yes,  yes,"  she  assured  him.  "  Except  for  a  sort 
of  sickening  feeling.  Are  you  hurt?  " 

He  shook  his  head. 

"  I  thought  you  were  broken  in  two,"  he  muttered. 
"  We  both  fell  right  on  top  of  you.  Ugh !  " 


ISO  NORTH    OF    FIFTY-THREE 

He  sat  down  on  the  tree  and  rested  his  head  on  his 
bloodstained  hands,  and  Hazel  saw  that  he  was  quiver 
ing  from  head  to  foot.  She  got  up  and  went  over  to 
him. 

"Are  you  sure  you  aren't  hurt?"  she  asked  again. 

He  looked  up  at  her ;  big  sweat  drops  were  gathering 
on  his  face. 

"Hurt?  No,"  he  murmured;  "I'm  just  plain 
scared.  You  looked  as  if  you  were  dead,  lying  there  so 
white  and  still." 

He  reached  out  one  long  arm  and  drew  her  up  close 
to  him. 

"  Little  person,"  he  whispered,  "  if  you  just  cared 
one  little  bit  as  much  as  I  do,  it  would  be  all  right. 
Look  at  me.  Just  the  thought  of  what  might  have  hap 
pened  to  you  has  set  every  nerve  in  my  body  jumping. 
I'm  Samson  shorn.  Why  can't  you  care?  I'd  be 
gooder  than  gold  to  you" 

She  drew  herself  away  from  him  without  answering 
—  not  in  fear,  but  because  her  code  of  ethics,  the  re 
pressive  conventions  of  her  whole  existence  urged  her  to 
do  so  in  the  face  of  a  sudden  yearning  to  draw  his 
bloody  face  up  close  to  her  and  kiss  it.  The  very 
thought,  the  swift  surge  of  the  impulse  frightened  her, 
shocked  her.  She  could  not  understand  it,  and  so  she 
took  refuge  behind  the  woman  instinct  to  hold  back, 
that  strange  feminine  paradox  which  will  deny  and 
shrink  from  the  dominant  impulses  of  life.  And  Roar 
ing  Bill  made  no  effort  to  hold  her.  He  let  her  go, 
and  fumbled  for  a  handkerchief  to  wipe  his  glistening 
face.  And  presently  he  went  over  to  where  a  little 


THE    OUT   TRAIL  151 

stream  bubbled  among  the  tree  roots  and  washed  his 
hands  and  face.  Then  he  got  a  clean  shirt  out  of  his 
war  bag  and  disappeared  into  the  brush  to  change. 
When  he  came  out  he  was  himself  again,  if  a  bit  sober 
in  expression. 

He  finished  his  packing  without  further  words.  Not 
till  the  pack  horses  were  ready,  and  Silk  saddled  for 
her,  did  he  speak  again.  Then  he  cast  a  glance  at  the 
dead  bear. 

"  By  Jove !  "  he  remarked.  "  I'm  about  to  forget 
my  tomahawk." 

He  poked  tentatively  at  the  furry  carcass  with  his 
toe.  Hazel  came  up  and  took  a  curious  survey  of  fallen 
Bruin.  Bill  laid  hold  of  the  hatchet  and  wrenched  it 
loose. 

"  I've  hunted  more  or  less  all  my  life,"  he  observed, 
"  and  I've  seen  bear  under  many  different  conditions. 
But  this  is  the  first  time  I  ever  saw  a  bear  tackle  any 
body  without  cause  or  warning.  I  guess  this  beggar 
was  strictly  on  the  warpath,  looking  for  trouble  on 
general  principles." 

"Was  he  after  me?"  Hazel  asked. 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  whether  he  had  a  grudge  against 
you,"  Bill  smiled.  "  But  he  was  sure  coming  with  his 
mouth  open  and  his  arms  spread  wide.  You  notice  I 
didn't  take  time  to  go  after  my  rifle,  and  I'm  not  a 
foolhardy  person  as  a  rule.  I  don't  tackle  a  grizzly 
with  a  hatchet  unless  I'm  cornered,  believe  me.  It  was 
lucky  he  wasn't  overly  big.  At  that,  I  can  feel  my  hair 
stand  up  when  I  think  how  he  would  have  mussed  us  up 
if  I'd  missed  that  first  swing  at  his  head.  You'll  never 


152  NORTH    OF   FIFTY-THREE 

have  a  closer  call.  And  the  same  thing  might  not 
happen  again  if  you  lived  in  a  bear  country  for  thirty 
years. 

"  It's  a  pity  to  let  that  good  skin  rot  here,"  Bill  con 
cluded  slowly ;  "  but  I  guess  I  will.  I  don't  want  his 
pelt.  It  would  always  be  a  reminder  of  things  —  things 
I'd  just  as  soon  forget.'* 

He  tucked  the  hatchet  in  its  place  on  the  pack. 
Hazel  swung  up  on  Silk.  They  tipped  over  the  crest 
of  the  mountain,  and  began  the  long  descent. 

The  evening  of  the  third  day  from  there  Bill  traveled 
till  dusk.  When  camp  was  made  and  the  fire  started, 
he  called  Hazel  to  one  side,  up  on  a  little  rocky  knoll, 
and  pointed  out  a  half  dozen  pin  points  of  yellow  glim 
mering  distantly  in  the  dark. 

"That's  Bella  Coola,"  he  told  her.  "And  unless 
they've  made  a  radical  change  in  their  sailing  schedules 
there  should  be  a  boat  clear  to-morrow  at  noon." 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE    DRONE    OP    THE    HIVE 

A  black  cloud  of  smoke  was  rolling  up  from  the  fun 
nel  of  the  Stanley  D.  as  Bill  Wagstaff  piloted  Hazel 
from  the  grimy  Bella  Coola  hotel  to  the  wharf. 

"  There  aren't  many  passengers,"  he  told  her. 
*'  They're  mostly  cannery  men.  But  you'll  have  the 
captain's  wife  to  chaperon  you.  She  happens  to  be 
making  the  trip." 

When  they  were  aboard  and  the  cabin  boy  had  shown 
them  to  what  was  dignified  by  the  name  of  stateroom, 
Bill  drew  a  long  envelope  from  his  pocket. 

"  Here,"  he  said,  "  is  a  little  money.  I  hope  you 
won't  let  any  foolish  pride  stand  in  the  way  of  using  it 
freely.  It  came  easy  to  me.  I  dug  it  out  of  Mother 
Earth,  and  there's  plenty  more  where  it  came  from. 
Seeing  that  I  deprived  you  of  access  to  your  own  money 
and  all  your  personal  belongings,  you  are  entitled  to 
this  any  way  you  look  at  it.  And  I  want  to  throw  in 
a  bit  of  gratuitous  advice  —  in  case  you  should  con 
clude  to  go  back  to  the  Meadows.  They  probably 
looked  high  and  low  for  you.  But  there  is  no  chance 
for  them  to  learn  where  you  actually  did  get  to  unless 
you  yourself  tell  them.  The  most  plausible  explana 
tion  —  and  if  you  go  there  you  must  make  some  ex 
planation  —  would  be  for  you  to  say  that  you  got  lost 


*54  NORTH    OF   FIFTY-THREE 

—  which  Is  true  enough  —  and  that  you  eventually  fell 
in  with  a  party  of  Indians,  and  later  on  connected  up 
with  a  party  of  white  people  who  were  traveling  coast- 
ward.  That  you  wintered  with  them,  and  they  put 
you  on  a  steamer  and  sent  you  to  Vancouver  when 
spring  opened. 

"  That,  I  guess,  is  all,"  he  concluded  slowly.  "  Only 
I  wish  " —  he  caught  her  by  the  shoulders  and  shook 
her  gently  — "  I  sure  do  wish  it  could  have  been  differ 
ent,  little  person.  Maybe  you'll  have  a  kindlier  feeling 
for  this  big  old  North  when  you  get  back  into  your 
cities  and  towns,  with  their  smoke  and  smells  and  busi 
ness  sharks,  where  it's  everybody  for  himself  and  the 
devil  take  the  hindmost.  Maybe  some  time  when  I  get 
restless  for  human  companionship  and  come  out  to 
cavort  in  the  bright  lights  for  a  while,  I  may  pass  you 
on  a  street  somewhere.  This  world  is  very  small.  Oh, 
yes  —  when  you  get  to  Vancouver  go  to  the  Ladysmith. 
It's  a  nice,  quiet  hotel  in  the  West  End.  Any  hack 
driver  knows  the  place." 

He  dropped  his  hands,  and  looked  steadily  at  her  for 
*  few  seconds,  steadily  and  longingly. 

"  Good-by !  "  he  said  abruptly  —  and  walked  out, 
and  down  the  gangplank  that  was  already  being  cast 
loose,  and  away  up  the  wharf  without  a  backward 
glance. 

The  Stanley  D.'s  siren  woke  the  echoes  along  the 
wooded  shore.  A  throbbing  that  shook  her  from  stem 
to  stern  betokened  the  first  turnings  of  the  screw.  And 
slowly  she  backed  into  deep  water  and  swung  wide  for 
the  outer  passage. 


THE    DRONE    OF   THE   HIVE         155 

Hazel  went  out  to  the  rail.  Bill  Wagstaff  had  dis 
appeared,  but  presently  she  caught  sight  of  him  stand 
ing  on  the  shore  end  of  the  wharf,  his  hands  thrust 
deep  in  his  coat  pockets,  staring  after  the  steamer. 
Hazel  waved  the  envelope  that  she  still  held  in  her  hand. 
Now  that  she  was  independent  of  him,  she  felt  magnan 
imous,  forgiving  —  and  suddenly  very  much  alone,  as 
if  she  had  dropped  back  into  the  old,  depressing  Gran- 
ville  atmosphere.  But  he  gave  no  answering  sign  save 
that  he  turned  on  the  instant  and  went  up  the  hill  to 
where  his  horses  stood  tied  among  the  huddled  build 
ings.  And  within  twenty  minutes  the  Stanley  D.  turned 
a  jutting  point,  and  Bella  Coola  was  lost  to  view. 

Hazel  went  back  into  her  stateroom  and  sat  down  on 
the  berth.  Presently  she  opened  the  envelope.  There 
was  a  thick  fold  of  bills,  her  ticket,  and  both  were 
wrapped  in  a  sheet  of  paper  penciled  with  dots  and 
crooked  lines.  She  laid  it  aside  and  counted  the  money. 

"  Heavens ! "  she  whispered.  "  I  wish  he  hadn't 
given  me  so  much.  I  didn't  need  all  that." 

For  Roaring  Bill  had  tucked  a  dozen  one-hundred- 
dollar  notes  in  the  envelope.  And,  curiously  enough, 
she  was  not  offended,  only  wishful  that  he  had  been 
less  generous.  Twelve  hundred  dollars  was  a  lot  of 
money,  far  more  than  she  needed,  and  she  did  not  know 
how  she  could  return  it.  She  sat  a  long  time  with  the 
money  in  her  lap,  thinking.  Then  she  took  up  the  map, 
recognizing  it  as  the  sheet  of  paper  Bill  had  worked 
over  so  long  their  last  night  at  the  cabin. 

It  made  the  North  more  clear  —  a  great  deal  more 
clear  —  to  her,  for  he  had  marked  Cariboo  Meadows 


156  NORTH    OF    FIFTY-THREE 

the  location  of  his  cabin,  and  Bella  Coola,  and  drawn 
dotted  lines  to  indicate  the  way  he  had  taken  her  in  and 
brought  her  out.  The  Fraser  and  its  tributaries,  some 
of  the  crossings  that  she  remembered  were  sketched  in, 
the  mountains  and  the  lakes  by  which  his  trail  had 
wound. 

"  I  wonder  if  that's  a  challenge  to  my  vindictive  dis= 
position?  "  she  murmured.  "  I  told  him  so  often  that 
I'd  make  him  sweat  for  his  treachery  if  ever  I  got  a 
chance.  Ah  well  — " 

She  put  away  the  money  and  the  map,  and  bestowed 
a  brief  scrutiny  upon  herself  in  the  cabin  mirror.  Six 
months  in  the  wild  had  given  her  a  ruddy  color,  the  glow 
of  perfect  physical  condition.  But  her  garments  were 
tattered  and  sadly  out  of  date.  The  wardrobe  of  the 
steamer-trunk  lady  had  suffered  in  the  winter's  wear. 
She  was  barely  presentable  in  the  outing  suit  of  cordu 
roy.  So  that  she  was  inclined  to  be  diffident  about  her 
appearance,  and  after  a  time  when  she  was  not  think 
ing  of  the  strange  episodes  of  the  immediate  past,  her 
mind,  womanlike,  began  to  dwell  on  civilization  and 
decent  clothes. 

The  Stanley  D,  bore  down  Bentick  Arm  and  on 
through  Burke  Channel  to  the  troubled  waters  of  Queen 
Charlotte  Sound,  where  the  blue  Pacific  opens  out  and 
away  to  far  Oriental  shores.  After  that  she  plowed 
south  between  Vancouver  Island  and  the  rugged  fore 
shores  where  the  Coast  Range  dips  to  the  sea,  past 
pleasant  isles,  and  through  narrow  passes  where  the 
cliffs  towered  sheer  on  either  hand,  and,  upon  the  even 
ing  of  the  third  day,  she  turned  into  Burrard  Inlet  and 


THE    DRONE   OF   THE   HIVE         157 

swept  across  a  harbor  speckled  with  shipping  from  all 
the  Seven  Seas  to  her  berth  at  the  dock. 

So  Hazel  came  again  to  a  city  —  a  city  that  roared 
and  bellowed  all  its  manifold  noises  in  her  ears,  long 
grown  accustomed  to  a  vast  and  brooding  silence. 
Mindful  of  Bill's  parting  word,  she  took  a  hack  to  the 
Ladysmith.  And  even  though  the  hotel  was  removed 
from  the  business  heart  of  the  city,  the  rumble  of  the 
city's  herculean  labors  reached  her  far  into  the  night. 
She  lay  wakefully,  staring  through  her  open  window 
at  the  arc  lights  winking  in  parallel  rows,  listening  to 
the  ceaseless  hum  of  man's  activities.  But  at  last  she 
fell  asleep,  and  dawn  of  a  clear  spring  day  awakened 
her. 

She  ate  her  breakfast,  and  set  forth  on  a  shopping 
tour.  To  such  advantage  did  she  put  two  of  the 
hundred-dollar  bills  that  by  noon  she  was  arrayed  in 
a  semi-tailored  suit  of  gray,  spring  hat,  shoes,  and 
gloves  to  match.  She  felt  once  more  at  ease,  less  con 
scious  that  people  stared  at  her  frayed  and  curious 
habiliments.  With  a  complete  outfit  of  lingerie  pur 
chased,  and  a  trunk  in  which  to  store  it  forwarded  to 
her  hotel,  her  immediate  activity  was  at  an  end,  and  she" 
had  time  to  think  of  her  next  move. 

And,  brought  face  to  face  with  that,  she  found  her-j 
self  at  something  of  a  loss.  She  had  no  desire  to  go 
back  to  Cariboo  Meadows,  even  to  get  what  few  per 
sonal  treasures  she  had  left  behind.  Cariboo  Meadows 
was  wiped  off  the  slate  as  far  as  she  was  concerned. 
Nevertheless,  she  must  make  her  way.  Somehow  she 
must  find  a  means  to  return  the  unused  portion  of  the 


158  NORTH    OF   FIFTY-THREE 

• —  to  her  —  enormous  sum  Roaring  Bill  had  placed  in 
her  hands.  She  must  make  her  own  living.  The  ques 
tion  that  troubled  her  was:  How,  and  where?  She 
had  her  trade  at  her  finger  ends,  and  the  storied  office 
buildings  of  Vancouver  assured  her  that  any  efficient 
stenographer  could  find  work.  But  she  looked  up  as 
she  walked  the  streets  at  the  high,  ugly  walls  of  brick 
and  steel  and  stone,  and  her  heart  misgave  her. 

So  for  the  time  being  she  promised  herself  a  holiday. 
In  the  afternoon  she  walked  the  length  of  Hastings 
Street,  where  ihe  earth  trembled  with  the  roaring  traf 
fic  of  street  cars,  wagons,  motors,  and  where  folk 
scuttled  back  and  forth  across  the  way  in  peril  of  their 
lives.  She  had  seen  all  the  like  before,  but  now  she 
looked  upon  it  with  different  eyes ;  it  possessed  some 
how  a  different  significance,  this  bustle  and  confusion 
which  had  seemingly  neither  beginning  nor  end,  only 
sporadic  periods  of  cessation. 

She  sat  in  a  candy  parlor  and  watched  people  go 
by,  swarming  like  bees  along  the  walk.  She  remem 
bered  having  heard  or  read  somewhere  the  simile  of  a 
human  hive.  The  shuffle  of  their  feet,  the  hum  of  their 
voices  droned  in  her  ears,  confusing  her,  irritating  her, 
and  she  presently  found  herself  hurrying  away  from 
it,  walking  rapidly  eastward  toward  a  thin  fringe  of 
trees  which  showed  against  a  distant  sky-line  over  a  sea 
of  roofs.  She  walked  fast,  and  before  long  the  jar  of 
solid  heels  on  the  concrete  pavement  bred  an  ache  in  her 
knees.  Then  she  caught  a  car  passing  in  that  direc 
tion,  and  rode  to  the  end  of  the  line,  where  the  rails 
ran  out  in  a  wilderness  of  stumps. 


THE    DRONE    OF   THE    HIVE         159 

Crossing  through  these,  she  found  a  rudely  graded 
highway,  which  in  turn  dwindled  to  a  mere  path.  It 
led  her  through  a  pleasant  area  of  second-growth  fir, 
slender  offspring  of  the  slaughtered  forest  monarchs, 
whose  great  stumps  dotted  the  roll  of  the  land,  and  up 
on  a  little  rise  whence  she  could  overlook  the  city  andi 
the  inlet  where  rode  the  tall-masted  ships  and  sea- 
scarred  tramps  from  deep  salt  water.  And  for  the  time 
being  she  was  content. 

But  a  spirit  of  restlessness  drove  her  back  into  the 
city.  And  at  nightfall  she  went  up  to  her  room  and 
threw  herself  wearily  on  the  bed.  She  was  tired,  body 
and  spirit,  and  lonely.  Nor  was  this  lightened  by  the 
surety  that  she  would  be  lonelier  still  before  she  found 
a  niche  to  fit  herself  in  and  gather  the  threads  of  her 
life  once  more  into  some  orderly  pattern. 

In  the  morning  she  felt  better,  even  to  the  point  of 
going  over  the  newspapers  and  jotting  down  several 
advertisements  calling  for  office  help.  Her  brief  ex 
perience  in  Cariboo  Meadows  had  not  led  her  to  look 
kindly  on  teaching  as  a  means  of  livelihood.  And 
stenographers  seemed  to  be  in  demand.  Wherefore, 
she  reasoned  that  wages  would  be  high.  With  the  list 
in  her  purse,  she  went  down  on  Hastings  —  which  runs 
like  a  huge  artery  through  the  heart  of  the  city,  with 
lesser  streets  crossing  and  diverging. 

But  she  made  no  application  for  employment.  For 
on  the  corner  of  Hastings  and  Seymour,  as  she  gath 
ered  her  skirt  in  her  hand  to  cross  the  street,  some  one 
caught  her  by  the  arm,  and  cried : 

"  Well,  f orewrmore,  if  it  isn't  Hazel  Weir !  '* 


160  NORTH    OF    FIFTY-THREE 

And  she  turned  to  find  herself  facing  Loraine  Marsh 
—  a  Granville  school  chum  —  and  Loraine's  mother. 
Back  of  them,  with  wide  and  startled  eyes,  loomed  Jack 
Barrow. 

He  pressed  forward  while  the  two  women  overwhelmed 
Hazel  with  a  flood  of  exclamations  and  questions,  and 
extended  his  hand.  Hazel  accepted  the  overture.  She 
had  long  since  gotten  over  her  resentment  against  him. 
She  was  furthermore  amazed  to  find  that  she  could  meet 
his  eye  and  take  his  hand  without  a  single  flutter  of  her 
pulse.  It  seemed  strange,  but  she  was  glad  of  it.  And, 
indeed,  she  was  too  much  taken  up  with  Loraine  Marsh's 
chatter,  and  too  genuinely  glad  to  hear  a  friendly  voice 
again,  to  dwell  much  on  ghosts  of  the  past. 

They  stood  a  few  minutes  on  the  corner;  then  Mrs. 
Marsh  proposed  that  they  go  to  the  hotel,  where  they 
could  talk  at  their  leisure  and  in  comfort.  Loraine  and 
her  mother  took  the  lead.  Barrow  naturally  fell  into 
step  with  Hazel. 

"  I've  been  wearing  sackcloth  and  ashes,  Hazel,"  he 
said  humbly.  "  And  I  guess  you've  got  about  a  mil 
lion  apologies  coming  from  everybody  in  Granville  for 
the  shabby  way  they  treated  you.  Shortly  after  you 
left,  somebody  on  one  of  the  papers  ferreted  out  the 
truth  of  that  Bush  affair,  and  the  vindictive  old  hound's 
'reasons  for  that  compromising  legacy  were  set  forth. 
It  seems  this  newspaper  fellow  connected  up  with  Bush's 
secretary  and  the  nurse.  Also,  Bush  appears  to  have 
kept  a  diary  —  and  kept  it  posted  up  to  the  day  of  his 
death  —  poured  out  all  his  feelings  on  paper,  and  re 
peatedly  asserted  that  he  would  win  you  or  ruin  you. 


THE    DRONE    OF    THE    HIVE         161 

And  it  seems  that  that  night  after  you  refused  to  come 
to  him  when  he  was  hurt,  he  called  in  his  lawyer  and 
made  that  codicil  —  and  spent  the  rest  of  the  time  till 
he  died  gloating  over  the  chances  of  it  besmirching  your 
character." 

"  I've  grown  rather  indifferent  about  it,"  Hazel  re-; 
plied  impersonally.  "  But  he  succeeded  rather  easily. 
Even  you,  who  should  have  known  me  better,  were  ready 
to  believe  the  very  worst." 

"  I've  paid  for  it,"  Barrow  pleaded.  :<  You  don't 
know  how  I've  hated  myself  for  being  such  a  cad.  But 
it  taught  me  a  lesson  —  if  you'll  not  hold  a  grudge 
against  me.  I've  wondered  and  worried  about  you, 
disappearing  the  way  you  did.  Where  have  you  been, 
and  how  have  you  been  getting  on?  You  surely  look 
well."  He  bent  an  admiring  glance  on  her. 

"  Oh,  I've  been  every  place,  and  I  can't  complain 
about  not  getting  on,"  she  answered  carelessly. 

For  the  life  of  her,  she  could  not  help  making  com 
parisons  between  the  man  beside  her  and  another  who 
she  guessed  would  by  now  be  bearing  up  to  the  crest 
of  the  divide  that  overlooked  the  green  and  peaceful 
vista  of  forest  and  lake,  with  the  Babine  Range  lying 
purple  beyond.  She  wondered  if  Roaring  Bill  Wag- 
staff  would  ever,  under  any  circumstances,  have  looked 
on  her  with  the  scornful,  angry  distrust  that  Barrow 
had  once  betrayed.  And  she  could  not  conceive  of 
Bill  Wagstaff  ever  being  humble  or  penitent  for  any 
thing  he  had  done.  Barrow's  attitude  was  that  of  a 
little  boy  who  had  broken  some  plaything  in  a  fit  of  anger 
and  was  now  woefully  trying  to  put  the  pieces  together 


162  NORTH    OF   FIFTY-THREE 

again.  It  amused  her.  Indeed,  it  afforded  her  a  dis 
tinctly  un-Christian  satisfaction,  since  she  was  not  by 
nature  of  a  meek  or  forgiving  spirit.  He  had  made  her 
suffer ;  it  was  but  fitting  that  he  should  know  a  pang  or 
two  himself. 

Hazel  visited  with  the  three  of  them  in  the  hotel 
parlor  for  a  matter  of  two  hours,  went  to  luncheon 
with  them,  and  at  luncheon  Loraine  Marsh  brought  up 
the  subject  of  her  coming  home  to  Granville  with  them. 
The  Bush  incident  was  discussed  and  dismissed.  On  the 
question  of  returning,  Hazel  was  noncommittal.  The 
idea  appealed  strongly  to  her.  Granville  was  home. 
She  had  grown  up  there.  There  were  a  multitude  of 
old  ties,  associations,  friends  to  draw  her  back.  But 
whether  her  home  town  would  seem  the  same,  whether  she 
would  feel  the  same  toward  the  friends  who  had  held 
aloof  in  the  time  when  she  needed  a  friend  the  most, 
even  if  they  came  flocking  back  to  her,  was  a  question 
that  she  thought  of  if  she  did  not  put  it  in  so  many 
words.  On  the  other  hand,  she  knew  too  well  the  drear 
loneliness  that  would  close  upon  her  in  Vancouver  when 
the  Marshes  left. 

"  Of  course  you'll  come !  We  won't  hear  of  leaving 
you  behind.  So  you  can  consider  that  settled."  Lo 
raine  Marsh  declared  at  last.  "  We're  going  day  after 
to-morrow.  So  is  Mr.  Barrow." 

Jack  walked  with  her  out  to  the  Ladysmith,  and, 
among  other  things,  told  her  how  he  happened  to  be  in 
the  coast  city. 

"  I've  been  doing  pretty  well  lately,"  he  said.  "  I 
came  out  here  on  a  deal  that  involved  about  fifty  thou- 


THE    DRONE   OF   THE    HIVE         163 

sand  dollars.  I  closed  it  up  just  this  morning  —  and 
the  commission  would  just  about  buy  us  that  little  house 
we  had  planned  once.  Won't  you  let  bygones  be  by 
gones,  Hazie?  " 

"  It  might  be  possible,  Jack,"  she  answered  slowly, 
"  if  it  were  not  for  the  fact  that  you  took  the  most 
effective  means  a  man  could  have  taken  to  kill  every 
atom  of  affection  I  had  for  you.  I  don't  feel  bitter 
any  more  —  I  simply  don't  feel  at  all." 

"  But  you  will,"  he  said  eagerly.  "  Just  give  me  a 
chance.  I  was  a  hot-headed,  jealous  fool,  but  I  never 
will  be  again.  Give  me  a  chance,  Hazel." 

"  You'll  have  to  make  your  own  chances,"  she  said 
deliberately.  "  I  refuse  to  bind  myself  in  any  way. 
Why  should  I  put  myself  out  to  make  you  happy  when 
you  destroyed  all  the  faith  I  had  in  you?  You  simply 
didn't  trust  me.  You  wouldn't  trust  me  again.  If 
slander  could  turn  you  against  me  once  it  might  a 
second  time.  Besides,  I  don't  care  for  you  as  a  man 
wants  a  woman  to  care  for  him.  And  I  don't  think 
I'm  going  to  care  —  except,  perhaps,  in  a  friendly 
way." 

And  with  that  Barrow  had  to  be  content. 

He  called  for  her  the  next  day,  and  took  her,  with 
the  Marshes,  out  for  a  launch  ride,  and  otherwise  de 
voted  himself  to  being  an  agreeable  cavalier.  On  the 
launch  excursion  it  was  settled  definitely  that  Hazel 
should  accompany  them  East.  She  had  no  prepara 
tions  to  make.  The  only  thing  she  would  like  to  have 
•jlone  —  return  Roaring  Bill's  surplus  money  —  she 
could  not  do.  She  did  not  know  how  or  where  to  reach 


164  NORTH    OF   FIFTY-THREE 

him  with  a  letter.  So  far  as  Granville  was  concerned, 
she  could  always  leave  it  if  she  desired,  and  she  was  a 
trifle  curious  to  know  how  all  her  friends  would  greet 
her  now  that  the  Bush  mystery  was  cleared  up  and 
the  legacy  explained. 

So  that  at  dusk  of  the  following  day  she  and  Loraine 
Marsh  sat  in  a  Pullman,  flattening  their  noses  against 
the  car  window,  taking  a  last  look  at  the  environs  of 
Vancouver  as  the  train  rolled  through  the  outskirts 
of  the  city.  Hazel  told  herself  that  she  was  going  home. 
Barrow  smiled  friendly  assurance  over  the  seat. 

Even  so,  she  was  restless,  far  from  content.  There 
was  something  lacking.  She  grew  distrait,  monosyl 
labic,  sat  for  long  intervals  staring  absently  into  the 
gloom  beyond  the  windowpane.  The  Limited  was  rip 
ping  through  forested  land.  She  could  see  now  and 
then  tall  treetops  limned  against  the  starlit  sky.  The 
ceaseless  roar  of  the  trucks  and  the  buzz  of  conversa 
tion  in  the  car  irritated  her.  At  half  after  eight  she 
called  the  porter  and  had  him  arrange  her  section  for 
the  night.  And  she  got  into  bed,  thankful  to  be  by  her 
self,  depressed  without  reason. 

She  slept  for  a  time,  her  sleep  broken  into  by  morbid 
dreams,  and  eventually  she  wakened  to  find  her  eyes 
full  of  tears.  She  did  not  know  why  she  should  cry, 
but  cry  she  did  till  her  pillow  grew  moist  —  and  the 
heavy  feeling  in  her  breast  grew,  if  anything,  more  in 
tense. 

She  raised  on  one  elbow  and  looked  out  the  window. 
The  train  slowed  with  a  squealing  of  brakes  and  the 
hiss  of  escaping  air  to  a  station.  On  the  signboard 


THE    DRONE   OF   THE   HIVE         165 

over  the  office  window  she  read  the  name  of  the  place 
and  the  notation :  "  Vancouver,  180  miles." 

Her  eyes  were  still  wet.  When  the  Limited  drove 
east  again  she  switched  on  the  tiny  electric  bulb  over 
her  head,  and  fumbled  in  her  purse  for  another  hand 
kerchief.  Her  fingers  drew  forth,  with  the  bit  of  linen, 
a  folded  sheet  of  paper,  which  seemed  to  hypnotize  her, 
so  fixedly  did  she  remain  looking  at  it.  A  sheet  of  plain 
white  paper,  marked  with  dots  and  names  and  crooked 
lines  that  stood  for  rivers,  with  shaded  patches  that 
meant  mountain  ranges  she  had  seen  —  Bill  Wagstaff's 
map. 

She  stared  at  it  a  long  time.  Then  she  found  her 
time-table,  and  ran  along  the  interminable  string  of 
station  names  till  she  found  Ashcroft,  from  whence 
northward  ran  the  Appian  Way  of  British  Columbia,  the 
Cariboo  Road,  over  which  she  had  journeyed  by  stage. 
She  noted  the  distance,  and  the  Limited's  hour  of  ar 
rival,  and  looked  at  her  watch*  Then  a  feverish  ac 
tivity  took  hold  of  her.  She  dressed,  got  her  suit  case 
from  under  the  berth,  and  stuffed  articles  into  it,  re 
gardless  of  order.  Her  hat  was  in  a  paper  bag  sus 
pended  from  a  hook  above  the  upper  berth.  Where 
fore,  she  tied  a  silk  scarf  over  her  head. 

That  done,  she  set  her  suit  case  in  the  aisle,  and 
curled  herself  in  the  berth,  with  her  face  pressed  close 
against  the  window.  A  whimsical  smile  played  about 
her  mouth,  and  her  fingers  tap-tapped  steadily  on  the 
purse,  wherein  was  folded  Bill  Wagstaff's  map. 

And  then  out  of  the  dark  ahead  a  cluster  of  lights 
winked  briefly,  the  shriek  of  the  Limited's  whistle 


266  NORTH    OF   FIFTY-THREE 

echoed  up  and  down  the  wide  reaches  of  the  North 
Thompson,  and  the  coaches  came  to  a  stoj,.  Hazel  took 
one  look  to  make  sure.  Then  she  got  softly  into  the 
aisle,^took  up  her  suit  case,  and  left  the  car.  At  the 
steps  she  turned  to  give  the  car  porter  a  message. 

"  Tell  Mrs.  Marsh  —  the  lady  in  lower  five,"  she 
said,  with  a  dollar  to  quicken  his  faculties,  "  that  Miss 
Weir  had  to  go  back.  Say  that  I  will  write  soon  and 
explain." 

She  stood  back  in  the  shadow  of  the  station  for  a 
few  seconds.  The  Limited's  stop  was  brief.  When  the 
red  lights  went  drumming  down  the  track,  she  took  up 
her  suit  case  and  walked  uptown  to  the  hotel  where  she 
had  tarried  overnight  once  before. 

The  clerk  showed  her  to  a  room.     She  threw  her 
suit  case  on  the  bed  and  turned  the  key  in  the  lock. 
TJbm  she  went  over,  and,  throwing  up  the  window  to 
~H~  £;-;.--[•-••'  ~:*-_l'.  -••-.'.    [own  and  looked  stcadii'y  tuwuTu" 
the  north,  smiling  to  herself. 

"  I  can  find  him,"  she  suddenly  said  aloud.  "  Of 
course  I  can  find  him ! " 

And  with  that  she  blew  a  kiss  from  her  finger-tips 
out  toward  the  dark  and  silent  North,  pulled  down  the 
shade,  and  went  quietly  to  bed. 


CHAPTER  XV 

AN    ENDING    AND    A    BEGINNING 

Unconsciously,  by  natural  assimilation,  so  to  speak, 
Hazel  Weir  had  absorbed  more  woodcraft  than  she 
realized  in  her  over-winter  stay  in  the  high  latitudes. 
Bill  Wagstaff  had  once  told  her  that  few  people  know 
just  what  they  can  do  until  they  are  compelled  to  try, 
and  upon  this,  her  second  journey  northward,  the  truth 
of  that  statement  grew  more  patent  with  each  passing 
day.  Little  by  little  the  vast  central  interior  of  British 
Columbia  unfolded  its  orderly  plan  of  watercourses, 
mountain  ranges,  and  valleys.  She  passed  camping 
places,  well  remembered  of  that  first  protesting  journey. 
And  at  night  she  could  close  her  eyes  beside  the  camp 
fires  and  visualize  the  prodigious  setting  of  it  all  — • 
eastward  the  pyramided  Rockies,  westward  lesser 
ranges,  the  Telegraph,  the  Babine;  and  through  the 
plateau  between  the  turbulent  Frazer,  bearing  eastward 
from  the  Rockies  and  turning  abruptly  for  its  long 
flow  south,  with  its  sinuous  doublings  and  turnings  that 
were  marked  in  bold  lines  on  Bill  Wagstaffs  map. 

So  trailing  north  with  old  Limping  George,  his  fat 
klootch,  and  two  half-grown  Siwash  youths,  Hazel  bore 
steadily  across  country,  driving  as  straight  as  the  roll 
ing  land  allowed  for  the  cabin  that  snuggled  in  a  woodsy 
basin  close  up  to  the  peaks  that  guard  Pine  River  Pass- 


168  NORTH    OF    FIFTY-THREE 

There  came  a  day  when  brief  uncertainty  became 
sure  knowledge  at  sight  of  an  L-shaped  body  of  water 
glimmering  through  the  fire-thinned  spruce.  Her  heart 
fluttered  for  a  minute.  Like  a  homing  bird,  by  grace 
of  the  rude  map  and  Limping  George,  she  had  come  to 
the  lake  where  the  Indians  had  camped  in  the  winter* 
and  she  could  have  gone  blindfolded  from  the  lake  to 
Roaring  Bill's  cabin. 

On  the  lake  shore,  where  the  spruce  ran  out  to  birch 
and  cottonwood,  she  called  a  halt. 

"  Make  camp,"  she  instructed.  "  Cabin  over  there," 
she  waved  her  hand.  "  I  go.  Byemby  come  back." 

Then  she  urged  her  pony  through  the  light  timber 
growth  and  across  the  little  meadows  where  the  rank 
grass  and  strange  varicolored  flowers  were  springing 
up  under  the  urge  of  the  warm  spring  sun.  Twenty 
minutes  brought  her  to  the  clearing.  The  grass  sprang 
lush  there,  and  the  air  was  pleasant  with  odors  of  pine 
and  balsam  wafted  down  from  the  mountain  height  be 
hind.  But  the  breath  of  the  woods  was  now  a  matter 
of  small  moment,  for  Silk  and  Satin  and  Nigger  loafing 
at  the  sunny  end  of  the  stable  pricked  up  their  ears 
at  her  approach,  and  she  knew  that  Roaring  Bill  was 
home  again.  She  tied  her  horse  to  a  sapling  and  drew 
nearer.  The  cabin  door  stood  wide. 

A  brief  panic  seized  her.  She  felt  a  sudden  shrink 
ing,  a  wild  desire  for  headlong  flight.  But  it  passed. 
She  knew  that  for  good  or  ill  she  would  never  turn 
back.  And  so,  with  her  heart  thumping  tremendously 
and  a  tentative  smile  curving  her  lips,  she  ran  lightly 
across  to  the  open  door. 


AN    ENDING   AND   A   BEGINNING       169 

On  the  soft  turf  her  footsteps  gave  forth  no  sound. 
She  gained  the  doorway  as  silently  as  a  shadow.  Roar 
ing  Bill  faced  the  end  of  the  long  room,  but  he  did  not 
see  her,  for  he  was  slumped  in  the  big  chair  before  the 
fireplace,  his  chin  sunk  on  his  breast,  staring  straight 
ahead  with  absent  eyes. 

In  all  the  days  she  had  been  with  him  she  had  never 
seen  him  look  like  that.  It  had  been  his  habit,  his  de 
fense,  to  cover  sadness  with  a  smile,  to  joke  when  he  was 
hurt.  That  weary,  hopeless  expression,  the  wry  twist 
of  his  lips,  wrung  her  heart  and  drew  from  her  a  yearn 
ing  little  whisper: 

"Bill!" 

He  came  out  of  his  chair  like  a  panther.  And  when 
his  eyes  beheld  her  in  the  doorway  he  stiffened  in  his 
tracks,  staring,  seeing,  yet  reluctant  to  believe  the  evi 
dence  of  his  vision.  His  brows  wrinkled.  He  put  up 
one  hand  and  absently  ran  it  over  his  cheek. 

"  I  wonder  if  I've  got  to  the  point  of  seeing  things," 
he  said  slowly.  "  Say,  little  person,  is  it  your  astral 
body,  or  is  it  really  you?  " 

"  Of  course  it's  me,"  she  cried  tremulously,  and  with 
fine  disregard  for  her  habitual  preciseness  of  speech. 

He  came  up  close  to  her  and  pinched  her  arm  with 
a  gentle  pressure,  as  if  he  had  to  feel  the  material  sub* 
stance  of  her  before  he  could  believe.  And  then  he  put 
his  hands  on  her  shoulders,  as  he  had  done  on  the 
steamer  that  day  at  Bella  Coola,  and  looked  long  and 
earnestly  at  her  —  looked  till  a  crimson  wave  rose  from 
her  neck  to  the  roots  of  her  dark,  glossy  hair.  And 
with  that  Roaring  Bill  took  her  in  his  arms,  cuddled 


170  NORTH    OF    FIFTY-THREE 

her  up  close  to  him,  and  kissed  her,  not  once  but  many 
times. 

"  You  really  and  truly  came  back,  little  person,"  he 
murmured.  "  Lord,  Lord  —  and  yet  they  say  the  day 
of  miracles  is  past." 

**  You  didn't  think  I  would,  did  you  ?  "  she  asked, 
with  her  blushing  face  snuggled  against  his  sturdy 
breast.  "  Still,  you  gave  me  a  map  so  that  I  could 
find  the  place?  " 

"  That  was  just  taking  a  desperate  chance.  No,  I 
never  expected  to  see  you  again,  unless  by  accident," 
he  said  honestly.  "  And  I've  been  crying  the  hurt  of 
it  to  the  stars  all  the  way  back  from  the  coast.  I  only 
got  here  yesterday.  I  pretty  near  passed  up  coming 
back  at  all.  I  didn't  see  how  I  could  stay,  with  every 
thing  to  remind  me  of  you.  Say,  but  it  looked  like  a 
lonesome  hole.  I  used  to  love  this  place  —  but  I  didn't 
lore  it  last  night.  It  seemed  about  the  most  cheerless 
and  depressing  spot  I  could  have  picked.  I  think  I 
should  have  ended  up  by  touching  a  match  to  the  whole 
business  and  hitting  the  trail  to  some  new  country.  I 
don't  know.  I'm  not  weak.  But  I  don't  think  I  could 
have  stayed  here  long." 

They  stood  silent  in  the  doorway  for  a  long  interval, 
Bill  holding  her  close  to  him,  and  she  blissfully  con 
tented,  careless  and  unthinking  of  the  future,  so  filled 
was  she  with  joy  of  the  present. 

"  Do  you  love  me  much,  little  person  ?  "  Bill  askeds 
after  a  little. 

She  nodded  vigorous  assent. 

"  Why  ?  "  he  desired  to  know. 


AN    ENDING   AND    A   BEGINNING       171 

"Oh,  just  because  —  because  you're  a  man,  I  sup 
pose,"  she  returned  mischievously. 

"  The  world's  chuck-full  of  men,"  Bill  observed. 

"  Surely,"  she  looked  up  at  him.  "  But  they're  not 
like  you.  Maybe  it's  bad  policy  to  start  in  flattering 
you,  but  there  aren't  many  men  of  your  type,  Billy-boy ; 
big  and  strong  and  capable,  and  at  the  same  time  kind 
and  patient  and  able  to  understand  things,  things  a 
woman  can't  always  put  into  words.  Last  fall  you  hurt 
my  pride  and  nearly  scared  me  to  death  by  carrying  me 
off  in  that  lawless,  headlong  fashion  of  yours.  But  you 
seemed  to  know  just  how  I  felt  about  it,  and  you  played 
fairer  than  any  man  I  ever  knew  would  have  done  under 
the  same  circumstances.  I  didn't  realize  it  until  I  got 
back  into  the  civilized  world.  And  then  all  at  once  I 
found  myself  longing  for  you  —  and  for  these  old 
forests  and  the  mountains  and  all.  So  I  came  back." 

"  Wise  girl,"  he  kissed  her.  "  You'll  never  be  sorry, 
I  hope.  It  took  some  nerve,  too.  It's  a  long  trail 
from  here  to  the  outside.  But  this  North  country  — 
it  gets  in  your  blood  —  if  your  blood's  red  —  and  1 
don't  think  there's  any  water  in  your  veins,  little  per 
son.  Lord!  I'm  afraid  to  let  go  of  you  for  fear  you'll 
vanish  into  nothing,  like  a  Hindu  fakir  stunt." 

"  No  fear,"  Hazel  laughed.  "  I've  got  a  pony  tied 
to  a  tree  out  there,  and  four  Siwashes  and  a  camp  out 
fit  over  by  Crooked  Lake.  If  I  should  vanish  I'd  leave 
a  plain  trail  for  you  to  follow." 

"  Well,"  Bill  said,  after  a  short  silence,  "  it's  a  hun 
dred  and  forty  miles  to  a  Hudson's  Bay  post  where 
there's  a  mission  and  a  preacher.  Let's  be  on  our  way 


172  NORTH    OF    FIFTY-THREE 

and  get  married.  Then  we'll  come  back  here  and  spend 
our  honeymoon.  Eh?  " 

She  nodded  assent. 

"  Are  you  game  to  start  in  half  an  hour?  "  he  asked, 
holding  her  off  at  arm's  length  admiringly. 

"  I'm  game  for  anything,  or  I  wouldn't  be  here,"  she 
retorted. 

"  All  right.  You  just  watch  an  exhibition  of  speedy 
packing,"  Bill  declared  —  and  straightway  fell  to  work. 

Hazel  followed  him  about,  helping  to  get  the  kyaks 
packed  with  food.  They  caught  the  three  horses,  and 
Bill  stripped  the  pony  of  Hazel's  riding  gear  and  placed 
a  pack  on  him.  Then  he  put  her  saddle  on  Silk. 

"  He's  your  private  mount  henceforth,"  Bill  told  her 
laughingly.  "  You'll  ride  him  with  more  pleasure  than 
you  did  the  first  time,  won't  you?  " 

Presently  they  were  ready  to  start,  planning  to  ride 
past  Limping  George's  camp  and  tell  him  whither  they 
were  bound.  Hazel  was  already  mounted.  Roaring 
Bill  paused,  with  his  toe  in  the  stirrup,  and  smiled 
whimsically  at  her  over  his  horse's  back. 

"  I  forgot  something,"  said  he,  and  went  back  into 
the  cabin  —  whence  he  shortly  emerged,  bearing  in  his 
hand  a  sheet  of  paper  upon  which  something  was  written 
in  bold,  angular  characters.  This  he  pinned  on  the 
door.  Hazel  rode  Silk  close  to  see  what  it  might  be,  and 
laughed  amusedly,  for  Bill  had  written : 

"  Mr.  and  Mrs.  William  Wagstaff  will  be  at  home  to 
their  friends  on  and  after  June  the  twentieth." 

He  swung  up  into  his  saddle,  and  they  jogged  across 
the  open.  In  the  edge  of  the  first  timber  they  pulled 


AN    ENDING   AND    A   BEGINNING       173 

up  and  looked  backward  at  the  cabin  drowsing  silently 
under  its  sentinel  tree.  Roaring  Bill  reached  out  one 
arm  and  laid  it  across  Hazel's  shoulders. 

"  Little  person,"  he  said  soberly,  "  here's  the  end  of 
one  trail,  and  the  beginning  of  another  —  the  longest 
trail  either  of  us  has  ever  faced.  How  does  it  look  toj 

you?" 

She  caught  his  fingers  with  a  quick,  hard  pressure. 
"  All  trails  look  alike  to  me,"  she  said,  with  shining 
*yes,  "  just  so  we  hit  them  togetiw." 


A  BRIEF   TIME  OF   PLANNING 

"  What  day  of  the  month  is  this,  Bill?  "  Hazel  asked. 

"  Haven't  the  least  idea,"  he  answered  lazily.  "  Time 
is  of  no  consequence  to  me  at  the  present  moment." 

They  were  sitting  on  the  warm  earth  before  their 
cabin,  their  backs  propped  comfortably  against  a  log, 
watching  the  sun  sink  behind  a  distant  sky-line  all 
notched  with  purple  mountains  upon  which  snow  still 
lingered.  Beside  them  a  smudge  dribbled  a  wisp  of 
smoke  sufficient  to  ward  off  a  pestilential  swarm  of 
mosquitoes  and  black  flies.  In  the  clear,  thin  air 
of  that  altitude  the  occasional  voices  of  what  bird  and 
animal  life  was  abroad  in  the  wild  broke  into  the  even 
ing  hush  with  astonishing  distinctness  —  a  lone  goose 
winged  above  in  wide  circles,  uttering  his  harsh  and 
solitary  cry.  He  had  lost  his  mate,  Bill  told  her.  Far 
off  in  the  bush  a  fox  barked.  The  evening  flight  of  the 
wild  duck  from  Crooked  Lake  to  a  chain  of  swamps 
passed  intermittently  over  the  clearing  with  a  sibilant 
whistle  of  wings.  To  all  the  wild  things,  no  less  than 
to  the  two  who  watched  and  listened  to  the  forest  traf 
fic,  it  was  a  land  of  peace  and  plenty. 

"  We  ought  to  go  up  to  the  swamps  to-morrow  and 
rustle  some  duck  eggs,"  Bill  observed  irrelevantly  —  his 
eyes  following  the  arrow  flight  of  a  mallard  flock.  But 


A    BRIEF   TIME    OF   PLANNING       175 

his  wife  was  counting  audibly,  checking  the  days  off  on 
her  fingers. 

"This  is  July  the  twenty-fifth,  Mr.  Roaring  Bill 
Wagstaff,"  she  announced.  "  We've  been  married  ex 
actly  one  month.'* 

"  A  whole  month?  "  he  echoed,  in  mock  astonishment, 
M  A  regular  calendar  month  of  thirty-one  days,  huh  ? 
You  don't  say  so?  Seems  like  it  was  only  day  before 
yesterday,  little  person." 

"  I  wonder,"  she  snuggled  up  a  little  closer  to  him, 
"  if  any  two  people  were  ever  as  happy  as  we've  been  ?  " 

Bill  put  his  arm  across  her  shoulders  and  tilted  her 
head  back  so  that  he  could  smile  down  into  her  face. 

"  They  have  been  a  bunch  of  golden  days,  haven't 
they  ?  "  he  whispered.  "  We  haven't  come  to  a  single 
bump  in  the  road  yet.  You  won't  forget  this  joy  time 
if  we  ever  do  hit  real  hard  going,  will  you,  Hazel?  " 

"  The  bird  of  ill  omen  croaks  again,"  she  reproved. 
"  Why  should  we  come  to  hard  going,  as  you  call 
it?  " 

"  We  shouldn't,"  he  declared.  "  But  most  people 
do.  And  we  might.  One  never  can  tell  what's  ahead. 
Life  takes  queer  and  unexpected  turns  sometimes. 
We've  got  to  live  pretty  close  to  each  other,  depend 
absolutely  on  each  other  in  many  ways  —  and  that's 
the  acid  test  of  human  companionship.  By  and  by, 
when  the  novelty  wears  off  —  maybe  you'll  get  sick 
of  seeing  the  same  old  Bill  around  and  nobody  else. 
You  see  I've  always  been  on  my  good  behavior  with 
you.  Do  you  like  me  a  lot?  " 

His  -arm  tightened  with  a  quick  and  powerful  pres- 


176          NORTH    OF    FIFTY-THREE 

sure,  then  suddenly  relaxed  to  let  her  lean  back  and 
stare  up  at  him  tenderly. 

"  I  ought  to  punish  you  for  saying  things  like  that," 
she  pouted.  "  Only  I  can't  think  of  any  effective 
method.  Sufficient  unto  the  day  is  the  evil  thereof  — 
and  there  is  no  evil  in  our  days." 

"  Amen,"  he  whispered  softly  —  and  they  fell  to  si 
lent  contemplation  of  the  rose  and  gold  that  spread  in 
a  wonderful  blazon  over  all  the  western  sky. 

"  Twenty-fifth  of  July,  eh? "  he  mused  presently. 
"  Summer's  half  gone  already.  I  didn't  realize  it. 
We  ought  to  be  stirring  pretty  soon,  lady." 

"  Let's  stir  into  the  house,  then,"  she  suggested. 
"  These  miserable  little  black  flies  have  found  a  tender 
place  on  me.  My,  but  they're  bloodthirsty  insects." 

Bill  laughed,  and  they  took  refuge  in  the  cabin,  the 
doorways  and  windows  of  which  were  barricaded  with 
cotton  mosquito  net  against  the  winged  swarms  that 
buzzed  hungrily  without.  Ensconced  in  the  big  chair 
by  the  fireplace,  with  Bill  sprawled  on  the  bearskin  at 
her  feet,  Hazel  came  back  to  his  last  remark. 

"  Why  did  you  say  it  was  time  for  us  to  be  stirring, 
Billum?" 

"  Because  these  Northern  seasons  are  so  blessed 
short,"  he  answered.  "  We  ought  to  try  and  do  a  little 
good  for  ourselves  —  make  hay  while  the  sun  shines. 
We'll  needa  da  mon'." 

"  Needa  fiddlesticks,"  she  laughed.  "  What  do  we 
need  money  for?  It  costs  practically  nothing  to  live 
up  here.  Why  this  sudden  desire  to  pursue  the  dollar? 
Besides,  how  are  you  going  to  pursue  it?  " 


A  BRIEF   TIME   OF   PLANNING       177 

*'  Go  prospecting,"  he  replied  promptly.  "  Hit  the 
trail  for  a  place  I  know  where  there's  oodles  of  coarse 
gold,  if  you  can  get  to  it  at  low  water.  How'd  you  like 
to  go  into  the  Upper  Naas  country  this  fall,  trap  all 
winter,  work  the  sand  bars  in  the  spring,  and  come  out 
next  fall  with  a  sack  of  gold  it  would  take  a  horse  to 
pack?" 

Hazel  clapped  her  hands. 

"  Oh,  Bill,  wouldn't  that  be  fine?  "  she  cried.  Across 
her  mind  flashed  a  vivid  picture  of  the  journey,  preg 
nant  with  adventure,  across  the  wild  hinterlands  —  they 
two  together.  "  I'd  love  to." 

"  It  won't  be  all  smooth  sailing,"  he  warned.  "  It's 
a  long  trip  and  a  hard  one,  and  the  winter  will  be  longer 
and  harder  than  the  trip.  We  won't  have  the  semi- 
luxuries  we've  got  here  in  this  cabin.  Not  by  a  long 
shot.  Still,  there's  a  chance  for  a  good  big  stake,  right 
in  that  one  trip." 

"But  why  the  necessity  for  making  a  stake?"  she 
inquired  thoughtfully,  after  a  lapse  of  five  minutes. 
"  I  thought  you  didn't  care  anything  about  money  so 
long  as  you  had  enough  to  get  along  on?  And  we 
surely  have  that.  We've  got  over  two  thousand  dol 
lars  in  real  money  —  and  no  place  to  spend  it  —  so 
we're  compelled  to  save." 

Bill  blew  a  smoke  ring  over  his  head  and  watched 
it  vanish  up  toward  the  dusky  roof  beams  before  he 
answered. 

"  Well,  little  person,"  said  he,  "  that's  very  true,  and 
we  can't  truthfully  say  that  stern  necessity  is  treading 
on  our  heels.  The  possession  of  money  has  never  been 


178  NORTH    OF   FIFTY-THREE 

a  crying  need  with  me.  But  I  hadn't  many  wants 
when  I  was  playing  a  lone  hand,  and  I  generally  let 
the  future  take  care  of  itself.  It  was  always  easy  to 
dig  up  money  enough  to  buy  books  and  grub  or  any 
thing  I  wanted.  Now  that  I've  assumed  a  certain  re 
sponsibility,  it  has  begun  to  dawn  on  me  that  we'd  en 
joy  life  better  if  we  were  assured  of  a  competence. 
We  can  live  on  the  country  here  indefinitely.  But  we 
won't  stay  here  always.  I'm  pretty  much  contented 
just  now.  So  are  you.  But  I  know  from  past  experi 
ence  that  the  outside  will  grow  more  alluring  as 
time  passes.  You'll  get  lonesome  for  rivilization.  It's 
the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world.  And  when  we  go 
out  to  mix  with  our  fellow  humans  we  want  to  meet 
them  on  terms  of  worldly  equality.  Which  is  to  say 
with  good  clothes  on,  and  a  fat  bank  roll  in  our  pocket. 
The  best  is  none  too  good  for  us,  lady.  And  the  best 
costs  money.  Anyway,  I'll  plead  guilty  to  changing, 
or,  rather,  modifying  my  point  of  view  —  getting  mar' 
ried  has  opened  up  new  vistas  of  pleasure  for  us  that 
call  for  dollars.  And  last,  but  not  least,  old  girl,  while 
I  love  to  loaf,  I  can  only  loaf  about  so  long  in  content 
ment.  Sabe?  I've  got  to  be  doing  somethmg;  whether 
it  was  profitable  or  not  has  never  mattered,  just  so  it 
was  action." 

"  I  sabe,  as  you  call  it,"  Hazel  smiled.  w  Of  course 
I  do.  Only  lazy  people  like  to  loaf  all  the  time.  I  love 
this  place,  and  we  might  stay  here  for  years  and  be  sat 
isfied.  But  — " 

"  But  we'd  be  better  satisfied  to  stay  if  we  knew  that 
we  could  leave  it  whenever  we  wanted  to,"  he  inter- 


A    BRIEF   TIME    OF   PLANNING       179 

rupted.  "  That's  the  psychology  of  the  human  ani 
mal,  all  right.  We  don't  like  to  be  coerced,  even  by 
circumstances.  Well,  granted  health,  one  can  be  boss 
of  old  Dame  Circumstance,  if  one  has  the  price  in  cold 
cash.  It's  a  melancholy  fact  that  the  good  things  of 
the  world  can  only  be  had  for  a  consideration." 

"  If  you  made  a  lot  of  money  mining,  we  could  travel 
—  one  could  do  lots  of  things,"  she  reflected.  "  I  don't 
think  I'd  want  to  live  in  a  city  again.  But  it  would 
be  nice  to  go  there  sometimes." 

"  Yes,  dear  girl,  it  would,"  Bill  agreed.  "  With  a 
chum  to  help  you  enjoy  things.  I  never  got  much  fun 
out  of  the  bright  lights  by  myself  —  it  was  too  lone 
some.  I  used  to  prowl  around  by  myself  with  an  ana 
lytical  eye  upon  humanity,  and  I  was  always  bumping 
into  a  lot  of  sordidness  and  suffering  that  I  couldn't  in 
the  least  remedy,  and  it  often  gave  me  a  bad  taste  in 
my  mouth.  Then  I'd  beat  it  for  the  woods  —  and  they 
always  looked  good  to  me.  The  trouble  was  that  I  had 
too  much  time  to  think,  and  nothing  to  do  when  I  hit 
a  live  town.  It  would  be  different  now.  We  can  do 
things  together  that  I  couldn't  do  alone,  and  you 
couldn't  do  alone.  Remains  only  to  get  the  where 
withal.  And  since  I  know  how  to  manage  that  with  a 
minimum  amount  of  effort,  I'd  like  to  be  about  it  before 
somebody  else  gets  ahead  of  me.  Though  there's  small 
chance  of  that." 

"  Well  be  partners,"  said  she.  "  How  will  we  divide 
the  profits,  Billum?" 

«*  We'll  split  even,"  he  declared.  "  That  is,  I'll  make 
the  money,  and  you'll  spend  it." 


i8o  NORTH    OF    FIFTY-THREE 

They  chuckled  over  this  conceit,  and  as  the  dusk 
closed  in  slowly  they  fell  to  planning  the  details.  Hazel 
lit  the  lamp,  and  in  its  yellow  glow  pored  over  maps 
while  Bill  idly  sketched  their  route  on  a  sheet  of  paper. 
His  objective  lay  east  of  the  head  of  the  Naas  proper, 
where  amid  a  wild  tangle  of  mountains  and  mountain 
torrents  three  turbulent  rivers,  the  Stikine,  the  Skeena, 
and  the  Naas,  took  their  rise.  A  God-forsaken  region, 
he  told  her,  where  few  white  men  had  penetrated.  The 
peaks  flirted  with  the  clouds,  and  their  sides  were  scarred 
with  glaciers.  A  lonesome,  brooding  land,  the  home 
of  a  vast  and  seldom-broken  silence. 

"  But  there's  all  kinds  of  game  and  fur  in  there," 
Bill  remarked  thoughtfully.  "  And  gold.  Still,  it's  a 
fierce  country  for  a  man  to  take  his  best  girl  into.  I 
don't  know  whether  I  ought  to  tackle  it." 

"  We  couldn't  be  more  isolated  than  we  are  here," 
Hazel  argued,  "  if  we  were  in  the  arctic.  Look  at  that 
poor  woman  at  Pelt  House.  Three  babies  born  since 
she  saw  a  doctor  or  another  woman  of  her  own  color ! 
What's  a  winter  by  ourselves  compared  to  that.  And 
she  didn't  think  it  so  great  a  hardship.  Don't  you 
worry  about  me,  Mr.  Bill.  I  think  it  will  be  fun.  I'm 
a  real  pioneer  at  heart.  The  wild  places  look  good  to 
nae  —  when  you're  along." 

She  received  her  due  reward  for  that,  and  then,  the 
long  twilight  having  brought  the  hour  to  a  lateness  that 
manifested  itself  by  sundry  yawns  on  their  part,  they 
went  to  bed. 

With  breakfast  over,  Bill  put  a  compass  in  his  pocket, 
after  having  ground  his  ax  blade  to  a  keen  edge. 


A    BRIEF   TIME    OF    PLANNING       181 

"  Come  on,"  said  he,  then ;  "  I'm  going  to  transact 
some  important  business." 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  she  promptly  demanded  with  much 
curiosity. 

"  This  domicile  of  ours,  girl,"  he  told  her,  while  he 
led  the  way  through  the  surrounding  timber,  "  is  ours 
only  by  grace  of  the  wilderness.  It's  built  on  unsur- 
yeyed  government  land  —  land  that  I  have  no  more 
legal  claim  to  than  any  passing  trapper.  I  never 
thought  of  it  before  —  which  goes  to  show  that  this 
(double-harness  business  puts  a  different  face  on  'most 
everything.  But  I'm  going  to  remedy  that.  Of 
course,  it  may  be  twenty  years  before  this  country  be 
gins  to  settle  up  enough  so  that  some  individual  may 
cast  a  covetous  eye  on  this  particular  spot  —  but  I'm 
not  going  to  take  any  chances.  I'm  going  to  formally 
stake  a  hundred  and  sixty  acres  of  this  and  apply  for 
its  purchase.  Then  we'll  have  a  cinch  on  our  home. 
We'll  always  have  a  refuge  to  fly  to,  no  matter  where 
we  go." 

She  nodded  appreciation  of  this.  The  cabin  in  the 
clearing  stood  for  some  of  those  moments  that  always 
loom  large  and  unforgettable  in  every  woman's  experi 
ence.  She  had  come  there  once  in  hot,  shamed  anger, 
and  she  had  come  again  as  a  bride.  It  was  the  handi 
work  of  a  man  she  loved  with  a  passion  that  sometimes 
startled  her  by  its  intensity.  She  had  plumbed  depths 
of  bitterness  there,  and,  contrariwise,  reached  a  point 
of  happiness  she  had  never  believed  possible.  Just  the 
mere  possibility  of  that  place  being  given  over  to  others 
roused  in  her  a  pang  of  resentment.  It  was  theirs, 


i82  NORTH    OF   FIFTY-THREE 

hers  and  Bill's,  and,  being  a  woman,  she  viewed  its  po* 
session  jealously. 

So  she  watched  with  keen  interest  what  he  did. 
Which,  in  truth,  was  simple  enough.  He  worked  his 
way  to  a  point  southeast  of  the  clearing  till  they  gained 
a  little  rise  whence  through  the  treetops  they  could 
look  back  and  see  the  cabin  roof.  There  Bill  cut  off 
an  eight-inch  jack  pine,  leaving  the  stump  approxi 
mately  four  feet  high.  This  he  hewed  square,  the  four 
flat  sides  of  the  post  facing  respectively  the  cardinal 
points  of  the  compass.  On  one  smoothed  surface  Bill 
set  to  work  with  his  pocketknife.  Hazel  sat  down  and 
watched  while  he  busied  himself  at  this.  And  when  he 
had  finished  she  read,  in  deep-carved  letters: 

W.  WAGSTAFF'S  S.  E.  CORNER. 

Then  he  penned  on  a  sheet  of  letter  paper  a  brief 
notice  to  the  effect  that  he,  William  Wagstaff,  intended 
to  apply  for  the  purchase  of  the  land  embraced  in  an 
area  a  half  mile  square,  of  which  the  post  was  the  south 
east  corner  mark.  This  notice  he  fastened  to  the 
stump  with  a  few  tacks,  and  sat  down  to  rest  from  his 
labors. 

"  How  long  do  you  suppose  that  will  stay  there, 
and  who  is  there  to  read  it,  if  it  does  ?  "  Hazel  ob 
served. 

"  Search  me.  The  moose  and  the  deer  and  the 
timber  wolves,  I  guess,"  Bill  grinned.  "  The  chances 
are  the  paper  won't  last  long,  with  winds  and  rains. 
But  it  doesn't  matter.  It's  simply  a  form  prescribed 


A   BRIEF   TIME    OF   PLANNING       183 

by  the  Land  Act  of  British  Columbia,  and,  so  long  as 
I  go  through  the  legal  motions,  that  lets  me  out.  Mat 
ter  of  form,  you  know.** 

"  Then  what  else  do  you  have  to  do  ?  " 

"  Nothing  but  furnish  the  money  when  the  land  de^ 
partment  gets  around  to  accept  my  application,"  he 
said.  **  I  can  get  an  agent  to  attend  to  all  the  details. 
Oh,  I  have  to  furnish  a  description  of  the  land  by  nat 
ural  boundaries,  to  give  them  an  idea  of  about  where 
it's  situated.  Well,  let's  take  a  look  at  our  estate 
from  another  corner.'* 

This,  roughly  ascertained  by  sighting  a  line  with  the 
compass  and  stepping  off  eight  hundred  and  eighty 
yards,  brought  them  up  on  a  knoll  that  commanded 
the  small  basin  of  which  the  clearing  was  practically 
in  the  center. 

"  Aha ! "  Bill  exclaimed.  "  Look  at  our  ranch, 
would  you;  our  widespread  acres  basking  in  the  sun. 
A  quarter  section  is  quite  a  chunk.  Do  you  know  I 
never  thought  much  about  it  before,  but  there's  a  piece 
of  the  finest  land  that  lies  outdoors.  I  wasn't  looking 
for  land  when  I  squatted  there.  It  was  a  pretty  place, 
and  there  was  hay  for  our  horses  in  that  meadow,  and 
trout  in  the  creek  back  of  the  cabin.  So  I  built  the 
old  shack  largely  on  the  conveniences  and  the  natural 
beauty  of  the  spot.  But  let  me  tell  you,  if  this  coun 
try  should  get  a  railroad  and  settle  up,  that  quarter 
section  might  produce  all  the  income  we'd  need,  just 
out  of  hay  and  potatoes.  How'd  you  like  to  be  a 
farmer's  wife,  huh?  " 

"  Fine,"  she  smiled.     "  Look  at  the  view  —  it  isn't 


i84  NORTH    OF   FIFTY-THREE 

gorgeous.     It's  —  it's   simply  peaceful  and  quiet   and 
soothing.     I  hate  to  leave  it." 

"  Better  be  sorry  to  leave  a  place  than  glad  to  get 
away,"  he  answered  lightly.  "  Come  on,  let's  pike  home 
and  get  things  in  order  for  the  long  trail,  woman  o* 
mine.  I'll  teach  jou  how  to  be  a  woodland  vagabond." 


CHAPTER  XVII 

EN  BOITTE 

Long  since  Hazel  had  become  aware  that  whatsoever 
her  husband  set  about  doing  he  did  swiftly  and  with  in 
flexible  purpose.  There  was  no  malingering  or  doubt 
ful  hesitation.  Once  his  mind  was  made  up,  he  acted. 
Thus,  upon  the  third  day  from  the  land  staking  they 
bore  away  eastward  from  the  clearing,  across  a  track 
less  area,  traveling  by  the  sun  and  Bill's  knowledge  of 
the  country. 

"  Some  day  there'll  be  trails  blazed  through  here  by 
a  paternal  government,"  he  laughed  over  his  shoulder, 
"  for  the  benefit  of  the  public.  But  "we  don't  need  'em, 
thank  goodness." 

The  buckskin  pony  Hazel  had  bought  for  the  trip 
in  with  Limping  George  ambled  sedately  under  a  pack 
containing  bedding,  clothes,  and  a  light  shelter  tent. 
The  black  horse,  Nigger,  he  of  the  cocked  ear  and  the 
rolling  eye,  carried  in  a  pair  of  kyaks  six  weeks'  supply 
of  food.  Bill  led  the  way,  seconded  by  Hazel  on  easy- 
gaited  Silk.  Behind  her  trailed  the  pack  horses  like 
dogs  well  broken  to  heel,  patient  under  their  heavy 
burdens.  Off  in  the  east  the  sun  was  barely  clear  of 
the  towering  Rockies,  and  the  woods  were  still  cool 
and  shadowy,  full  of  aromatic  odors  from  plant  and 
tree. 


186  NORTH    OF    FIFTY-THREE 

Hazel  followed  her  man  contentedly.  They  were  to 
gether  upon  the  big  adventure,  just  as  she  had  seen  it 
set  forth  in  books,  and  she  found  it  good.  For  her 
there  was  no  more  diverging  of  trails,  no  more  problems 
looming  fearsomely  at  the  journey's  end.  To  jog  easily 
through  woods  and  over  open  meadows  all  day,  and  at 
night  to  lie  with  her  head  pillowed  on  Bill's  arm,  peering 
up  through  interlocked  branches  at  a  myriad  of  gleam 
ing  stars  —  that  was  sufficient  to  fill  her  days.  To 
live  and  love  and  be  loved,  with  all  that  had  ever  seemed 
hateful  and  sordid  and  mean  thrust  into  a  remote  back 
ground.  It  was  almost  too  good  to  be  true,  she  told 
herself.  Yet  it  was  indubitably  true.  And  she  was 
grateful  for  the  fact.  Touches  of  the  unavoidable  bit 
terness  of  life  had  taught  her  the  worth  of  days  that 
could  be  treasured  in  the  memory. 

Occasionally  she  would  visualize  the  cabin  drowsing 
lifeless  in  its  emerald  setting,  haunted  by  the  rabbits 
that  played  timidly  about  in  the  twilight,  or  perhaps 
a  wandering  deer  peering  his  wide-eyed  curiosity  from 
the  timber's  edge.  The  books  and  rugs  and  curtains 
were  stowed  in  boxes  and  bundles  and  hung  by  wires  to 
the  ridge  log  to  keep  them  from  the  busy  bush-tailed 
rats.  Everything  was  done  up  carefully  and  put  away 
for  safekeeping,  as  became  a  house  that  is  to  be  long 
untenanted. 

The  mother  instinct  to  keep  a  nest  snug  and  cozy  gave 
her  a  tiny  pang  over  the  abandoned  home.  The  dust  of 
many  months  would  gather  on  the  empty  chairs  and 
shelves.  Still  it  was  only  a  passing  absence.  They 
would  come  back,  with  treasure  wrested  from  the  strong 


EN   ROUTE  187 

box  of  the  wild.      Surely  Fortune  could  not  forbear 
smiling  on  a  mate  like  hers? 

There  was  no  monotony  in  the  passing  days.  Rivers 
barred  their  way.  These  they  forded  or  swam,  or  fer 
ried  a  makeshift  raft  of  logs,  as  seemed  most  fit.  Once 
their  raft  came  to  grief  in  the  maw  of  a  snarling  cur- ; 
rent,  and  they  laid  up  two  days  to  dry  their  saturated 
belongings.  Once  their  horses,  impelled  by  some  mys 
terious  home  yearning,  hit  the  back  trail  in  a  black 
night  of  downpour,  and  they  trudged  half  a  day  through 
wet  grass  and  dripping  scrub  to  overtake  the  truants. 
Thunderstorms  drove  up,  shattering  the  hush  of  the 
land  with  ponderous  detonations,  assaulting  them  with 
fierce  bursts  of  rain.  Haps  and  mishaps  alike  theji 
accepted  with  an  equable  spirit  and  the  true  philosophy 
of  the  trail  —  to  take  things  as  they  come.  When  rain 
deluged  them,  there  was  always  shelter  to  be  found  and 
fire  to  warm  them.  If  the  flies  assailed  too  fiercely,  a 
smudge  brought  easement  of  that  ill.  And  when  the 
land  lay  smiling  under  a  pleasant  sun,  they  rode  light- 
hearted  and  care-free,  singing  or  in  silent  content,  as 
the  spirit  moved.  If  they  rode  alone,  they  felt  none  of 
that  loneliness  which  is  so  integral  a  part  of  the  still, 
unpeopled  places.  Each  day  was  something  more  than 
a  mere  toll  of  so  many  miles  traversed.  The  unex 
pected,  for  which  both  were  eager-eyed,  lurked  on  the 
shoulder  of  each  mountain,  in  the  hollow  of  every  cool 
canon,  or  met  them  boldly  in  the  open,  naked  and  un 
afraid. 

Bearing  up  to  where  the  Nachaco  debouches  from 
Fraser  Lake,  with  a  Hudson's  Bay  fur  post  and  an  In- 


i38  NORTH    OF    FIFTY-THREE 

dian  mission  on  its  eastern  fringe,  they  came  upon  a 
blazed  line  in  the  scrub  timber.  Roaring  Bill  pulled 
up,  and  squinted  away  down  the  narrow  lane  fresh  with 
ax  marks. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  I  wonder  what's  coming  off  now? 
That  looks  like  a  survey  line  of  some  sort.  It  isn't 
a  trail  - —  too  wide.  Let's  follow  it  a  while. 

"  I'll  bet  a  nickel,"  he  asserted  next,  "  that's  a  rail 
road  survey."  They  had  traversed  two  miles  more  or 
lees,  and  the  fact  was  patent  that  the  blazed  line  sought 
a  fairly  constant  level  across  country.  "  A  land  survey 
runs  all  same  latitude  and  longitude.  Huh !  " 

Half  an  hour  of  easy  jogging  set  the  seal  of  truth 
on  his  assertion.  They  came  upon  a  man  squinting 
through  a  brass  instrument  set  on  three  legs,  directing, 
with  alternate  wavings  of  his  outspread  hands,  certain 
activities  of  other  men  ahead  of  him. 

"  Well,  I'll  be  — "  he  bit  off  the  sentence,  and  stared 
a  moment  in  frank  astonishment  at  Hazel.  Then  he 
took  off  his  hat  and*  bowed.  "  Good  morning,"  he 
greeted  poh'tely. 

"  Sure,"  Bill  grinned.  "  We  have  mornings  like  this 
around  here  all  the  time.  What  all  are  you  fellows  do- 
'ing  in  the  wilderness,  anyway?  Railroad?  " 

**  Cross-section  work  for  the  G.  T.  P.,"  the  surveyor 
replied. 

"  Huh,"  Bill  grunted.  "  Is  it  a  dead  cinch,  or  is  it 
something  that  may  possibly  come  to  pass  in  the  misty, 
future?  " 

"  As  near  a  cinch  as  anything  ever  is,"  the  surveyor 
answered.  "  Construction  has  begun  —  at  both  ends. 


EN   ROUTE  189 

I  thought  the  few  white  folks  in  this  country  kept  tab 
on  anything  as  important  as  a  new  railroad." 

"  We've  heard  a  lot,  but  none  of  'em  has  transpired 
yet;  not  in  my  time,  anyway,"  Bill  replied  dryly. 
"  However,  the  world  keeps  right  on  moving.  I've 
heard  more  or  less  talk  of  this,  but  I  didn't  know  it  had; 
got  past  the  talking  stage.  What's  their  Pacific  ter 
minal?  " 

"  Prince  Rupert  —  new  town  on  a  peninsula  north  of 
the  mouth  of  the  Skeena,"  said  the  surveyor.  "  It's 
a  rush  job  all  the  way  through,  I  believe.  Three  years 
to  spike  up  the  last  rail.  And  that's  going  some  for 
a  transcontinental  road.  Both  the  Dominion  and  B. 
C.  governments  have  guaranteed  the  company's  bonds 
away  up  into  millions." 

"  Be  a  great  thing  for  this  country  —  say,  where 
does  it  cross  the  Rockies  ?  —  what's  the  general  route  ?  " 
Bill  asked  abruptly. 

"  Goes  over  the  range  through  Yellowhead  Pass. 
From  here  it  follows  the  Nachaco  to  Fort  George,  then 
up  the  Fraser  by  Tete  Juan  Cache,  through  the  pass, 
then  down  the  Athabasca  till  it  switches  over  to  strike 
Edmonton." 

"  Uh-huh,"  Bill  nodded.  "  One  of  the  modern  labors 
of  Hercules.  Well,  we've  got  to  peg.  So  long." 

"  Our  camp's  about  five  miles  ahead.  Better  stop  in 
and  noon,"  the  surveyor  invited,  "  if  it's  on  your  road." 

"  Thanks.     Maybe  we  will,"  Bill  returned. 

The  surveyor  lifted  his  hat,  with  a  swift  glance  of 
admiration  at  Hazel,  and  they  passed  with  a  mutual  "  so 
long." 


igo          NORTH    OF   FIFTY-THREE 

"What  do  you  think  of  that,  old  girl?"  Bill  ob 
served  presently.  "  A  real,  honest-to-God  railroad  go 
ing  by  within  a  hundred  miles  of  our  shack.  Three 
years.  It'll  be  there  before  we  know  it.  We'll  have 
neighbors  to  burn." 

"  A  hundred  miles !  "  Hazel  laughed.  "  Is  that  your 
idea  of  a  neighborly  distance  ?  " 

"What's  a  hundred  miles?"  he  defended.  "Two 
days'  ride,  that's  all.  And  the  kind  of  people  that  come 
to  settle  in  a  country  like  this  don't  stick  in  sight  of 
the  cars.  They're  like  me  —  need  lots  of  elbow  room. 
There'll  be  hardy  souls  looking  for  a  location  up  where 
we  are  before  very  long.  You'll  see." 

They  passed  other  crews  of  men,  surveyors  with 
transits,  chainmen,  stake  drivers,  ax  gangs  widening 
the  path  through  the  timber.  Most  of  them  looked  at 
Hazel  in  frank  surprise,  and  stared  long  after  she 
passed  by.  And  when  an  open  bottom  beside  a  noisy 
little  creek  showed  the  scattered  tents  of  the  survey 
oamp,  Hazel  said: 

"  Let's  not  stop,  Bill." 

He  looked  back  over  his  shoulder  with  a  comprehend 
ing  smile. 

"  Getting  shy?  Make  you  uncomfortable  to  have  all 
these  boys  look  at  you,  little  person  ?  "  he  bantered. 
*'  All  right,  we  won't  stop.  But  all  these  fellows  prob 
ably  haven't  seen  a  white  woman  for  months.  You 
can't  blame  them  for  admiring.  You  do  look  good  to 
other  men  besides  me,  you  know." 

So  they  rode  through  the  camp  with  but  a  nod  to  the 
aproned  cook,  who  thrust  out  his  head,  and  a  gray- 


EN   ROUTE  191 

haired  man  with  glasses,  who  humped  over  a  drafting 
board  under  an  awning.  Their  noon  fire  they  built  at 
a  spring  five  miles  beyond. 

Thereafter  they  skirted  three  lakes  in  succession, 
Fraser,  Burns,  and  Decker,  and  climbed  over  a  low  di 
vide  to  drop  into  the  Bulkley  Valley  —  a  pleasant,  roll 
ing  country,  where  the  timber  was  interspersed  with 
patches  of  open  grassland  and  set  with  small  lakes, 
wherein  schools  of  big  trout  lived  their  finny  lives  un- 
harried  by  anglers  —  save  when  some  wandering  Indian 
snared  one  with  a  primitive  net. 

Far  down  this  valley  they  came  upon  the  first  sign  of 
settlement.  Hardy  souls,  far  in  advance  of  the  coming 
railroad,  had  built  here  and  there  a  log  cabin  and  were 
hard  at  it  clearing  and  plowing  and  getting  the  land 
ready  for  crops.  Four  or  five  such  lone  ranches  they 
passed,  tarrying  overnight  at  one  where  they  found  a 
broad-bosomed  woman  with  a  brood  of  tow-headed 
children.  Her  husband  was  out  after  supplies  —  a 
week's  journey.  She  kept  Hazel  from  her  bed  till  after 
midnight,  talking.  They  had  been  there  over  winter, 
and  Hazel  Wagstaff  was  the  first  white  woman  she  had 
bespoken  in  seven  months.  There  were  other  women  in 
the  valley  farther  along ;  but  fifty  or  sixty  miles  leaves 
scant  opportunity  for  visiting  when  there  is  so  much 
work  to  be  done  ere  wild  acres  will  feed  hungry  mouths. 

At  length  they  fared  into  Hazleton,  which  is  the  hub 
of  a  vast  area  over  which  men  pursue  gold  and  furs. 
Some  hundred  odd  souls  were  gathered  there,  where  the 
stern-wheel  steamers  that  ply  the  turgid  Skeena  reach 
the  head  of  navigation.  A  land-recording  office  and  a 


192  NORTH    OF   FIFTY-THREE 

mining  recorder  Hazleton  boasted  as  proof  of  its  civic 
importance.  The  mining  recorder,  who  combined  in 
himself  many  capacities  besides  his  governmental  func 
tion,  undertook  to  put  through  Bill's  land  deal.  He 
knew  Bill  Wagstaff . 

"  Wise  man,"  he  nodded,  over  the  description.  "  If 
some  more  uh  these  boys  that  have  blazed  trails  through 
this  country  would  do  the  same  thing,  they'd  be  better 
off.  A  chunk  of  land  anywhere  in  this  country  is  a 
good  bet  now.  We'll  have  rails  here  from  the  coast  in 
a  year.  Better  freeze  onto  a  couple  uh  lots  here  in 
Hazleton,  while  they're  low.  Be  plumb  to  the  skies 
in  ten  years.  Natural  place  for  a  city,  Bill.  It's  as- 
tonishin'  how  the  settlers  is  comin'." 

There  was  ocular  evidence  of  this  last,  for  they  had 
followed  in  a  road  well  rutted  from  loaded  wagons. 
But  Bill  invested  in  no  real  estate,  notwithstanding  the 
positive  assurance  that  Hazleton  was  on  the  ragged  edge 
of  a  boom. 

"  Maybe,  maybe,"  he  admitted.  "  But  I've  got  other 
fish  to  fry.  That  one  piece  up  by  Pine  River  will  do 
me  for  a  while." 

Here  where  folk  talked  only  of  gold  and  pelts  and 
railroads  and  settlement  and  the  coming  boom  that 
would  make  them  all  rich,  Bill  Wagstaff  added  two  more 
ponies  to  his  pack  train.  These  he  loaded  down  with 
food,  staples  only,  flour,  sugar,  beans,  salt,  tea  and 
coffee,  and  a  sack  of  dried  fruit.  Also  he  bestowed 
upon  Nigger  a  further  burden  of  six  dozen  steel  traps. 

And  in  the  cool  of  a  midsummer  morning,  before  Ha 
zleton  had  rubbed  the  sleep  out  of  its  collective  eyes  and 


EN    ROUTE  193 

taken  up  the  day's  work  of  discussing  its  future  great 
ness,  Roaring  Bill  and  his  wife  draped  the  mosquito 
nets  over  their  heads  and  turned  their  faces  north. 

They  bore  out  upon  a  wagon  road.  For  a  brief  dis 
tance  only  did  this  endure,  then  dwindled  to  a  path.  A 
turn  in  this  hid  sight  of  the  clustered  log  houses  and 
tents,  and  the  two  steamers  that  lay  up  against  the 
bank.  The  river  itself  was  soon  lost  in  the  far  stretches 
of  forest.  Once  more  they  rode  alone  in  the  wilder 
ness.  For  the  first  time  Hazel  felt  a  quick  shrinking 
from  the  North,  an  awe  of  its  huge,  silent  spaces,  which 
could  so  easily  engulf  thousands  such  as  they  and  still 
remain  a  land  untamed. 

But  this  feeling  passed,  and  she  came  again  under  the 
spell  of  the  trail,  riding  with  eyes  and  ears  alert,  sit 
ting  at  ease  in  the  saddle,  and  taking  each  new  crook 
in  the  way  with  quickened  interest. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE    WINTERING    PLACE 

On  the  second  day  they  crossed  the  Skeena,  a  risky 
and  tedious  piece  of  business,  for  the  river  ran  deep  and 
strong.  And  shortly  after  this  crossing  they  came  to 
a  line  of  wire  strung  on  poles.  Originally  a  fair  pas 
sageway  had  been  cleared  through  low  brush  and  dense 
timber  alike.  A  pathway  of  sorts  still  remained, 
though  dim  and  little  trodden  and  littered  with  down 
trees  of  various  sizes.  Bill  followed  this. 

"  What  is  the  wire?  A  rural  telephone?  Oh,  I  re 
member  you  told  me  once" — that  Yukon  telegraph," 
Hazel  remarked. 

"Uh-huh.  That's  the  famous  Telegraph  Trail," 
Bill  answered.  "  Runs  from  Ashcroft  clear  to  Dawson 
City,  on  the  Yukon ;  that  is,  the  line  does.  There's  a 
lineman's  house  every  twenty  miles  or  so,  and  an  op 
erator  every  forty  miles.  The  best  thing  about  it  is 
that  it  furnishes  us  with  a  sort  of  a  road.  And  that's 
mighty  lucky,  for  there's  some  tough  going  ahead 
of  us." 

So  long  as  they  held  to  the  Telegraph  Trail  the  way 
led  through  fairly  decent  country.  In  open  patches 
there  was  ample  grazing  for  their  horses.  Hills  there 
were,  to  be  sure;  all  the  land  rolled  away  in  immense 
forested  billows,  but  the  mountains  stood  off  on  the 


THE   WINTERING   PLACE  195 

right  and  left,  frowning  in  the  distance.  A  plague  of 
flies  harassed  them  continually,  Hazel's  hands  suffering 
most,  even  though  she  kept  religiously  to  thick  buckskin 
gloves.  The  poisonous  bites  led  to  scratching,  which 
bred  soreness.  And  as  they  gained  a  greater  elevation 
and  the  timbered  bottoms  gave  way  to  rocky  hills  over 
which  she  must  perforce  walk  and  lead  her  horse,  the 
sweat  of  the  exertion  stung  and  burned  intolerably,  like 
salt  water  on  an  open  wound. 

Minor  hardships,  these;  scarcely  to  be  dignified  by 
that  name,  more  in  the  nature  of  aggravated  discom 
forts  they  were.  But  they  irked,  and,  like  any  accumu 
lation  of  small  things,  piled  up  a  disheartening  total. 
By  imperceptible  degrees  the  glamour  of  the  trail,  the 
lure  of  gypsying,  began  to  lessen.  She  found  herself 
longing  for  the  Pine  River  cabin,  for  surcease  from  this 
never-ending  journey.  But  she  would  not  have  owned 
this  to  Roaring  Bill ;  not  for  the  world.  It  savored  of 
weakness,  disloyalty.  She  felt  ashamed.  Still  —  it 
was  no  longer  a  pleasure  jaunt.  The  country  they  bore 
steadily  up  into  grew  more  and  more  forbidding.  The 
rugged  slopes  bore  no  resemblance  to  the  kindly,  peace 
ful  land  where  the  cabin  stood.  Swamps  and  reedy 
lakes  lurked  in  low  places.  The  hills  stood  forth  grim 
and  craggy,  gashed  with  deep-cleft  gorges,  and  rising 
to  heights  more  grim  and  desolate  at  the  uttermost 
reach  of  her  vision.  And  into  the  heart  of  this,  toward 
a  far-distant  area  where  she  could  faintly  distinguish 
virgin  snow  on  peaks  that  pierced  the  sky,  they  traveled 
day  after  day. 

Shortly  before  reaching  Station  Six  they  crossed  the 


ig6  NORTH    OF    FIFTY-THREE 

Naas,  foaming  down  to  the  blue  Pacific.  And  at  Sta 
tion  Seven,  Bill  turned  squarely  off  the  Telegraph  Trail 
and  struck  east  by  north.  It  had  been  a  break  in  the 
monotony  of  each  day's  travel  to  come  upon  the  lonely 
men  in  their  little  log  houses.  When  they  turned  away 
from  the  single  wire  that  linked  them  up  with  the  outer 
world,  it  seemed  to  Hazel  as  if  the  profound,  disquiet 
ing  stillness  of  the  North  became  intensified. 

Presently  the  way  grew  rougher.  If  anything,, 
Roaring  Bill  increased  his  pace.  He  himself  no  longer 
rode.  When  the  steepness  of  the  hills  and  canons  made 
the  going  hard  the  packs  were  redivided,  and  hence 
forth  Satin  bore  on  his  back  a  portion  of  the  supplies. 
Bill  led  the  way  tirelessly.  Through  flies,  river  cross 
ings,  camp  labor,  and  all  the  petty  irritations  of  the 
trail  he  kept  an  unruffled  spirit,  a  fine,  enduring  pa 
tience  that  Hazel  marveled  at  and  admired.  Many  a 
time,  wakening  at  some  slight  stir,  she  would  find  him 
cooking  breakfast.  In  every  way  within  his  power  he 
saved  her. 

"  I  got  to  take  good  care  of  you,  little  person,"  he 
would  say.  "  I'm  used  to  this  sort  of  thing,  and  I'm 
tough  as  buckskin.  But  it  sure  isn't  proving  any  pic 
nic  for  you.  It's  a  lot  worse  in  this  way  than  I  thought 
it  would  be.  And  we've  got  to  get  in  there  before  the 
snow  begins  to  fly,  or  it  will  play  the  dickens  with  us." 

Many  a  strange  shift  were  they  put  to.  Once  Bill 
had  to  fell  a  great  spruce  across  a  twenty-foot  crevice. 
It  took  him  two  days  to  hew  it  flat  so  that  his  horses 
could  be  led  over.  The  depth  was  bottomless  to  the 
eye,  but  from  far  below  rose  the  cavernous  growl 


THE    WINTERING   PLACE  197 

of  rushing  water,  and  Hazel  held  her  breath  as  each 
animal  stepped  gingerly  over  the  narrow  bridge.  One 
misstep  — 

Once  they  climbed  three  weary  days  up  a  precipitous 
mountain  range,  and,  turned  back  in  sight  of  the 
'crest  by  an  impassable  cliff,  were  forced  to  back  track 
and  swing  in  a  fifty-mile  detour. 

In  an  air  line  Roaring  Bill's  destination  lay  approxi 
mately  two  hundred  miles  north  —  almost  due  north  — 
of  Hazleton.  By  the  devious  route  they  were  compelled 
to  take  the  distance  was  doubled,  more  than  doubled. 
And  their  rate  of  progress  now  fell  short  of  a  ten-mile 
average.  September  was  upon  them.  The  days  dwin 
dled  in  length,  and  the  nights  grew  to  have  a  frosty  nip. 

Early  and  late  he  pushed  on.  Two  camp  necessities 
were  fortunately  abundant,  grass  and  water.  Even  so, 
the  stress  of  the  trail  told  on  the  horses.  They  lost 
flesh.  The  extreme  steepness  of  succeeding  hills  bred 
galls  under  the  heavy  packs.  They  grew  leg  weary, 
no  longer  following  each  other  with  sprightly  step  and 
heads  high.  Hazel  pitied  them,  for  she  herself  was  trail 
weary  beyond  words.  The  vagabond  instinct  had 
fallen  asleep.  The  fine  aura  of  romance  no  longer  hov 
ered  over  the  venture. 

Sometimes  when  dusk  ended  the  day's  journey  and 
•she  swung  her  stiffened  limbs  out  of  the  saddle,  she  would 
cheerfully  have  foregone  all  the  gold  in  the  North  to  be 
at  her  ease  before  the  fireplace  in  their  distant  cabin, 
with  her  man's  head  nesting  in  her  lap,  and  no  toll  of 
weary  miles  looming  sternly  on  the  morrow's  horizon. 
It  was  all  work,  trying  work,  the  more  trying  because 


igS  NORTH    OF    FIFTY-THREE 

she  sensed  a  latent  uneasiness  on  her  husband's  part,  an 
uneasiness  she  could  never  induce  him  to  embody  in 
words.  Nevertheless,  it  existed,  and  she  resented  its 
existence  —  a  trouble  she  could  not  share.  But  she 
could  not  put  her  finger  on  the  cause,  for  Bill  merely 
smiled  a  denial  when  she  mentioned  it. 

Nor  did  she  fathom  the  cause  until  upon  a  certain 
day  which  fell  upon  the  end  of  a  week's  wearisome  trav 
erse  of  the  hardest  country  yet  encountered.  Up  and 
up  and  still  higher  he  bore  into  a  range  of  beetling 
crags,  and  always  his  gaze  was  fixed  steadfastly  and  du 
biously  on  the  serrated  backbone  toward  which  they  as- 
oended  with  infinite  toil  and  hourly  risk,  skirting  sheer 
cliffs  on  narrow  rock  ledges,  working  foot  by  foot  over 
declivities  where  the  horses  dug  their  hoofs  into  a  pre 
carious  toe  hold,  and  where  a  slip  meant  broken  bones 
on  the  ragged  stones  below.  But  win  to  the  uppermost 
height  they  did,  where  an  early  snowfall  lay  two  inches 
deep  in  a  thin  forest  of  jack  pine. 

They  broke  out  of  a  canou  up  which  they  had  strug 
gled  all  day  onto  a  level  plot  where  the  pine  stood  in 
somber  ranks.  A  spring  creek  split  the  flat  in  two. 
Beside  this  tiny  stream  Bill  unlashed  his  packs.  It  still 
lacked  two  hours  of  dark.  But  he  made  no  comment 
and  Hazel  forbore  to  trouble  him  with  questions.  Once 
the  packs  were  off  and  the  horses  at  liberty,  Bill  caught 
up  his  rifle. 

"  Come  on,  Hazel,"  he  said.  "  Let's  take  a  little 
hike." 

The  flat  was  small.,  and  once  clear  of  it  the  pines 
thinned  out  on  a  steep,  rocky  slope  so  that  westward 


THE   WINTERING   PLACE  199 

they  could  overlook  a  vast  network  of  canons  and  moun 
tain  spurs.  But  ahead  of  them  the  mountain  rose  to  an 
upstanding  backbone  of  jumbled  granite,  and  on  this 
backbone  Bill  Wagstaff  bent  an  anxious  eye.  Pres 
ently  they  sat  down  on  a  bowlder  to  take  a  breathing 
spell  after  a  stiff  stretch  of  climbing.  Hazel  slipped 
her  hand  in  his  and  whispered : 

"What  is  it,  Billy-boy?" 

**  I'm  afraid  we  can't  get  over  here  with  the  horses," 
he  answered  slowly.  "  And  if  we  can't  find  a  pass  of 
some  kind  —  well,  come  on !  It  isn't  more  than  a  quar 
ter  of  a  mile  to  the  top." 

He  struck  out  again,  clambering  over  great  bowl 
ders,  clawing  his  way  along  rocky  shelves,  with  a  hand 
outstretched  to  help  her  now  and  then.  Her  percep 
tions  quickened  by  the  hint  he  had  given,  Hazel  viewed 
the  long  ridge  for  a  possible  crossing,  and  she  was 
forced  to  the  reluctant  conclusion  that  no  hoofed  beast 
save  mountain  sheep  or  goat  could  cross  that  divide. 
Certainly  not  by  the  route  they  were  taking.  And 
north  and  south  as  far  as  she  could  see  the  backbone 
ran  like  a  solid  wall. 

It  was  a  scant  quarter  mile  to  the  top,  beyond  which 
no  farther  mountain  crests  showed  —  only  clear,  blue 
sky.  But  it  was  a  stretch  that  taxed  her  endurance  to 
the  limit  for  the  next  hour.  Just  short  of  the  top  Bill 
halted,  and  wiped  the  sweat  out  of  his  eyes.  And  as  he 
stood  his  gaze  suddenly  became  fixed,  a  concentrated 
stare  at  a  point  northward.  He  raised  his  glasses. 

"  By  thunder !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  I  believe  —  it's  me 
for  the  top." 


200  NORTH    OF    FIFTY-THREE 

He  went  up  the  few  remaining  yards  with  a  haste 
that  left  Hazel  panting  behind.  Above  her  he  stood 
balanced  on  a  bowlder,  cut  sharp  against  the  sky,  and 
she  reached  him  just  as  he  lowered  the  field  glasses  with 
a  long  sigh  of  relief.  His  eyes  shone  with  exultation. 

"  Come  on  up  on  the  perch,"  he  invited,  and  reached 
forth  a  long,  muscular  arm,  drawing  her  up  close  be' 
side  him  on  the  rock. 

"  Behold  the  Promised  Land,"  he  breathed,  "  and  the 
gateway  thereof,  lying  a  couple  of  miles  to  the  north.5* 

They  were,  it  seemed  to  Hazel,  roosting  precariously 
on  the  very  summit  of  the  world.  On  both  sides  the 
mountain  pitched  away  sharply  in  rugged  folds.  Dis 
tance  smoothed  out  the  harsh  declivities,  blurred  over  the 
tremendous  canons.  Looking  eastward,  she  saw  an  am 
ple  basin,  which  gave  promise  of  level  ground  on  its 
floor.  True,  it  was  ringed  about  with  sky-scraping 
peaks,  save  where  a  small  valley  opened  to  the  south. 
Behind  them,  between  them  and  the  far  Pacific  rolled 
a  sea  of  mountains,  snow-capped,  glacier-torn,  gigantic. 

"  Down  there,"  Roaring  Bill  waved  his  hand,  "  there's 
a  little  meadow,  and  turf  to  walk  on.  Lord,  I'll  be  glad 
to  get  out  of  these  rocks !  You'll  never  catch  me  com 
ing  in  this  way  again.  It's  sure  tough  going.  And 
I've  been  scared  to  death  for  a  week,  thinking  we 
couldn't  get  through." 
"But  we  can?" 

"  Yes,  easy,"  he   assured.     "  Take  the   glasses   and 

look.     That  flat  we  left  our  outfit  in  runs  pretty  well 

to  the  top,  about  two  miles  along.     Then  there's  a  notch 

in  the  ridge  that  you  can't  get  with  the  naked  eye,  and 


THE   WINTERING   PLACE  201 

a  wider  canon  running  down  into  the  basin.  It's  the 
only  decent  break  in  the  divide  for  fifty  miles  so  far  as 
I  can  see.  This  backbone  runs  to  high  mountains  both 
north  and  south  of  us  —  like  the  great  wall  of  China. 
We're  lucky  to  hit  this  pass." 

"  Suppose  we  couldn't  get  over  here?  "  Hazel  asked, 
"What  if  there  hadn't  been  a  pass?  " 

"  That  was  beginning  to  keep  me  awake  nights,"  he 
confessed.  "  I've  been  studying  this  rock  wall  for  a 
week.  It  doesn't  look  good  from  the  east  side,  but  it's 
worse  on  the  west,  and  I  couldn't  seem  to  locate  the  gap 
I  spotted  from  the  basin  one  time.  And  if  we  couldn't 
get  through,  it  meant  a  hundred  miles  or  more  back 
south  around  that  white  peak  you  see.  Over  a  worse 
country  than  we've  come  through  —  and  no  cinch  on 
getting  over  at  that.  Do  you  realize  that  it's  getting 
late  in  the  year?  Winter  may  come  —  bing!  —  inside 
of  ten  days.  And  me  caught  in  a  rock  pile,  with  no 
cabin  to  shelter  my  best  girl,  and  no  hay  up  to  feed  my 
horses!  You  bet  it  bothered  me." 

She  hugged  him  sympathetically,  and  Bill  smiled 
down  at  her. 

"  But  it's  plain  sailing  now,"  he  continued.  "  I 
know  that  basin  and  all  the  country  beyond  it.  It's  a 
pretty  decent  camping  place,  and  there's  a  fairly  easy 
way  out." 

He  bestowed  a  reassuring  kiss  upon  her.  They  sat 
on  the  bowlder  for  a  few  minutes,  then  scrambled  down 
hill  to  the  jack-pine  flat,  and  built  their  evening  fire. 
And  for  the  first  time  in  many  days  Roaring  Bill  whis 
tled  and  lightly  burst  into  snatches  of  song  in  the  deep, 


202  NORTH    OF   FIFTY-THREE 

bellowing  voice  that  had  given  him  his  name  back  in  the 
Cariboo  country.  His  humor  was  infectious.  Hazel  felt 
the  gods  of  high  adventure  smiling  broadly  upon  them 
once  more. 

Before  daybreak  they  were  up  and  packed.  In  the 
dim  light  of  dawn  Bill  picked  his  way  up  through  the 
jack-pine  flat.  With  easy  traveling  they  made  such 
time  as  enabled  them  to  cross  through  the  narrow  gash 
—  cut  in  the  divide  by  some  glacial  offshoot  when  the 
Klappan  Range  was  young  —  before  the  sun,  a  ball  of 
molten  fire,  heaved  up  from  behind  the  far  mounta/n 
chain. 

At  noon,  two  days  later,  they  stepped  out  of  a  heavy 
stand  of  spruce  into  a  sun-warmed  meadow,  where  ripe, 
yellow  grasses  waved  to  their  horses'  knees.  Hazel 
came  afoot,  a  fresh-killed  deer  lashed  across  Silk's  back. 

Bill  hesitated,  as  if  taking  his  bearings,  then  led  t« 
where  a  rocky  spur  of  a  hill  jutted  into  the  meadow's 
edge.  A  spring  bubbled  out  of  a  pebbly  basin,  and  he 
poked  about  in  the  grass  beside  it  with  his  foot,  pres 
ently  stooping  to  pick  up  something  which  proved  to  be 
a  short  bit  of  charred  stick. 

"  The  remains  of  my  last  camp  fire,"  he  smiled  rem- 
iniscently.  "  Packs  off,  old  pal.  We're  through  with 
the  trail  for  a  while."  ' 


CHAPTER  XIX 

FOUR   WALLS   AND    A    KOOF 

To  such  as  view  with  a  kindly  eye  the  hushed  areas' 
of  virgin  forest  and  the  bold  cliffs  and  peaks  of  moun 
tain  ranges,  it  is  a  joy  to  tread  unknown  trails,  camp 
ing  as  the  spirit  moves,  journeying  leisurely  and  in 
decent  comfort  from  charming  spot  to  spots  more  charm 
ing.  With  no  spur  of  need  to  drive,  such  inconsequen 
tial  wandering  gives  to  each  day  and  incident  an  added 
zest.  Nature  appears  to  have  on  her  best  bib  and 
tucker  for  the  occasion.  The  alluring  finger  of  the  un 
known  beckons  alluringly  onward,  so  that  if  one  should 
betimes  strain  to  physical  exhaustion  in  pursuit,  that  is 
a  matter  of  no  moment  whatever. 

But  it  is  a  different  thing  to  face  the  wilderness  for 
a  purpose,  to  journey  in  haste  toward  a  set  point,  with 
a  penalty  swift  and  sure  for  failure  to  reach  that  point 
in  due  season.  Especially  is  this  so  in  the  high  lati 
tudes.  Natural  barriers  uprear  before  the  travelers 
barriers  which  he  must  scale  with  sweat  and  straining 
muscles.  He  must  progress  by  devious  ways,  seeking 
always  the  line  of  least  resistance.  The  season  of  sum 
mer  is  brief,  a  riot  of  flowers  and  vegetation.  A  cer 
tain  number  of  weeks  the  land  smiles  and  flaunts  gay 
flowers  in  the  shadow  of  the  ancient  glaciers.  Then 


204          NORTH    OF    FIFTY-THREE 

the  frost  and  snow  come  back  to  their  own,  and  the  long 
nights  shut  down  like  a  pall. 

Brought  to  it  by  a  kindlier  road,  Hazel  would  have 
found  that  nook  in  the  Klappan  Range  a  pleasant 
enough  place.  She  could  not  deny  its  beauty.  It 
snuggled  in  the  heart  of  a  wild  tangle  of  hills  all  tur- 
reted  and  battlemented  with  ledge  and  pinnacle  of  rock, 
from  which  ran  huge  escarpments  clothed  with  spruce 
and  pine,  scarred  and  gashed  on  every  hand  with  slides 
and  deep-worn  watercourses,  down  which  tumultuous 
streams  rioted  their  foamy  way.  And  nestled  amid  this, 
like  a  precious  stone  in  its  massive  setting,  a  few  hun 
dred  acres  of  level,  grassy  turf  dotted  with  trees. 
Southward  opened  a  narrow  valley,  as  if  pointing  the 
road  to  a  less  rigorous  land.  No,  she  could  not  deny 
its  beauty.  But  she  was  far  too  trail  weary  to  appre 
ciate  the  grandeur  of  the  Klappan  Range.  She  desired 
nothing  so  much  as  rest  and  comfort,  and  the  solemn 
mountains  were  neither  restful  nor  soothing.  They 
stood  too  grim  and  aloof  in  a  lonely  land. 

There  was  so  much  to  be  done,  work  of  the  hands ;  a 
cabin  to  build,  and  a  stable ;  hay  to  be  cut  and  stacked 
so  that  their  horses  might  live  through  the  long  winter 
• —  which  already  heralded  his  approach  with  sharp, 
stinging  frosts  at  night,  and  flurries  of  snow  along  the 
higher  ridges. 

Bill  staked  the  tent  beside  the  spring,  fashioned  a 
rude  fork  out  of  a  pronged  willow,  and  fitted  a  handle 
to  the  scythe  he  had  brought  for  the  purpose.  From 
dawn  to  dark  he  swung  the  keen  blade  in  the  heavy 
grass  which  carpeted  the  bottom.  Behind  him  Hazel 


FOUR  WALLS  AND  A  ROOF    205 

piled  it  in  little  mounds  with  the  fork.  She  insisted  on 
this?  though  it  blistered  her  hands  and  brought  furious 
pains  to  her  back.  If  her  man  must  strain  every  nerve 
she  would  lighten  the  burden  with  what  strength  she 
had.  And  with  two  pair  of  hands  to  the  task,  the  piles 
of  hay  gathered  thick  on  the  meadow.  When  Bill 
judged  that  the  supply  reached  twenty  tons,  he  built  a 
rude  sled  with  a  rack  on  it,  and  hauled  in  the  hay  with 
a  saddle  horse. 

"  Amen !  "  said  Bill,  when  he  had  emptied  the  rack  for 
the  last  time,  and  the  hay  rose  in  a  neat  stack. 
"  That's  another  load  off  my  mind.  I  can  build  a  cabin 
and  a  stable  in  six  feet  of  snow  if  I  have  to,  but  there 
would  have  been  a  slim  chance  of  haying  once  a  storm 
hit  us.  And  the  caballos  need  a  grubstake  for  the  win 
ter  worse  than  we  do,  because  they  can't  eat  meat. 
We  wouldn't  go  hungry  —  there's  moose  enough  to 
feed  an  army  ranging  in  that  low  ground  to  the 
south." 

"  There's  everything  that  one  needs,  almost,  in  the 
wilderness,  isn't  there? "  Hazel  observed  reflectively. 
*'  But  still  the  law  of  life  is  awfully  harsh,  don't  you 
think,  Bill?  Isolation  is  a  terrible  thing  when  it  is  so 
absolutely  complete.  Suppose  something  went  wrong? 
There's  no  help,  and  no  mercy  —  absolutely  none. 
You  could  die  here  by  inches  and  the  woods  and  moun 
tains  would  look  calmly  on,  just  as  they  have  looked  on 
everything  for  thousands  of  years.  It's  like  prison 
regulations.  You  must  do  this,  and  you  must  do  that, 
and  there's  no  excuse  for  mistakes.  Nature,  when  you 
get  close  to  her,  is  so  inexorable." 


206  NORTH    OF    FIFTY-THREE 

Bill  eyed  her  a  second.     Then  he  put  his  arms  around 
her,  and  patted  her  hair  tenderly. 

"  Is  it  getting  on  your  nerves  already,  little  person  ?  " 
he  asked.  "  Nothing's  going  to  go  wrong.  I've  been 
in  wild  country  too  often  to  make  mistakes  or  get  care 
less.  And  those  are  the  two  crimes  for  which  the  North. 
—  or  any  wilderness  —  inflicts  rather  serious  penalties. 
Life  isn't  a  bit  harsher  here  than  in  the  human  ant  heaps. 
Only  everything  is  more  direct;  cause  and  effect  are 
linked  up  close.  There  are  no  complexities.  It's  all 
done  in  the  open,  and  if  you  don't  play  the  game  ac 
cording  to  the  few  simple  rules  you  go  down  and  out. 
That's  all  there  is  to  it.  There's  no  doctor  in  the  next 
block,  nor  a  grocer  to  take  your  order  over  the  phone, 
and  you  can't  run  out  to  a  cafe  and  take  dinner  with  a 
friend.  But  neither  is  the  air  swarming  with  disease 
germs,  nor  are  there  malicious  gossips  to  blast  you  with 
their  tongues,  nor  rent  and  taxes  to  pay  every  time 
you  turn  around.  Nor  am  I  at  the  mercy  of  a  job. 
And  what  does  the  old,  settled  country  do  to  you  when 
you  have  neither  money  nor  job?  It  treats  you  worse 
than  the  worst  the  North  can  do ;  for,  lacking  the  price, 
it  denies  you  access  to  the  abundance  that  mocks  you  in 
every  shop  window,  and  bars  you  out  of  the  houses  that 
line  the  streets.  Here,  everything  needful  is  yours 
for  the  taking.  If  one  is  ignorant,  or  unable  to  con 
vert  wood  and  water  and  game  to  his  own  uses,  he 
must  learn  how,  or  pay  the  penalty  of  incompetence. 
No,  little  person,  I  don't  think  the  law  of  life  is  nearly 
so  harsh  here  as  it  is  where  the  mob  struggles  for  its 
daily  bread.  It's  more  open  and  aboveboard  here; 


FOUR  WALLS  AND  A  ROOF   207 

more  up  to  the  individual.     But  it's  lonely  sometimes, 
I  guess  that's  what  ails  you." 

"  Oh,  pouf !  "  she  denied.  "  I'm  not  lonely,  so  long1 
as  I've  got  you.  But  sometimes  I  think  of  something 
happening  to  you  —  sickness  and  accidents,  and  all 
that.  One  can't  help  thinking  what  might  happen." 

"  Forget  it !  "  Bill  exhorted.  "  That's  the  worst  of 
living  in  this  big,  still  country  —  it  makes  one  intro 
spective,  and  so  confoundedly  conscious  of  what  puny 
atoms  we  human  beings  are,  after  all.  But  there's 
less  chance  of  sickness  here  than  any  place.  Anyway, 
we've  got  to  take  a  chance  on  things  now  and  then,  in 
the  course  of  living  our  lives  according  to  our  lights. 
We're  playing  for  a  stake  —  and  things  that  are  worth 
having  are  never  handed  to  us  on  a  silver  salver.  Be 
sides,  I  never  had  worse  than  a  stomachache  in  my  life 
—  and  you're  a  pretty  healthy  specimen  yourself. 
Wait  till  I  get  that  cabin  built,  with  a  big  fireplace  at 
one  end.  We'll  be  more  comfortable,  and  things  will 
look  a  little  rosier.  This  thing  of  everlasting  hurry 
and  hard  work  gets  on  anybody's  nerves." 

The  best  of  the  afternoon  was  still  unspent  when 
the  haystacking  terminated,  and  Bill  declared  a  holi 
day.  He  rigged  a  line  on  a  limber  willow  wand,  and 
with  a  fragment  of  venison  for  bait  sought  the  pools 
of  the  stream  which  flowed  out  the  south  opening.  He 
prophesied  that  in  certain  black  eddies  plump  trout 
would  be  lurking,  and  he  made  his  prophecy  good  at 
the  first  pool.  Hazel  elected  herself  gun-bearer  to 
the  expedition,  but  before  long  Bill  took  up  that  of 
fice  while  she  snared  trout  after  trout  from  the  stream 


208  NORTH    OF    FIFTY-THREE 

—  having  become  something  of  an  angler  herself  un« 
der  Bill's  schooling.  And  when  they  were  frying  the 
fish  that  evening  he  suddenly  observed: 

"  Say,  they  were  game  little  fellows,  these,  weren't 
they?  Wasn't  that  better  sport  than  taking  a  street 
car  out  to  the  park  and  feeding  the  swans  ?  "  i 

"  What  an  idea !  "  she  laughed.  "  Who  wants  to 
feed  swans  in  a  park  ?  " 

But  when  the  fire  had  sunk  to  dull  embers,  and  the 
stars  were  peeping  shyly  in  the  open  flap  of  their  tent, 
she  whispered  in  his  ear: 

"  You  mustn't  think  I'm  complaining  or  lonesome 
or  anything,  Billy-boy,  when  I  make  remarks  like  I 
did  to-day.  I  love  you  a  heap,  and  I'd  be  happy  any 
where  with  you.  And  I'm  really  and  truly  at  home  in 
the  wilderness.  Only  —  only  sometimes  I  have  a  funny 
feeling;  as  if  I  were  afraid.  It  seems  silly,  but  this 
is  all  so  different  from  our  little  cabin.  I  look  up  at 
these  big  mountains,  and  they  seem  to  be  scowling  — • 
as  if  we  were  trespassers  or  something." 

"  I  know."  Bill  drew  her  close  to  him.  "  But 
that's  just  mood.  I've  felt  that  same  sensation  up 
here  —  a  foolish,  indefinable  foreboding.  All  the  out- 
of-the-way  places  of  the  earth  produce  that  effect,  if 
one  is  at  all  imaginative.  It's  the  bigness  of  every 
thing,  and  the  eternal  stillness.  I've  caught  myself 
listening  —  when  I  knew  there  was  nothing  to  hear. 
Makes  a  fellow  feel  like  a  small  boy  left  by  himself  in 
some  big,  gloomy  building  —  awesome.  Sure,  I  know 
it.  It  would  be  hard  on  the  nerves  to  live  here  al 
ways.  But  we're  only  after  a  stake  —  then  all  the 


FOUR  WALLS  AND  A  ROOF    209 

pleasant  places  of  the  earth  are  open  to  us ;  with  that 
little,  old  log  house  up  by  Pine  River  for  a  refuge 
•whenever  we  get  tired  of  the  world  at  large.  Cuddle 
up  and  go  to  sleep.  You're  a  dead-game  sport,  or 
you'd  have  hollered  long  ago." 

And,  next  day,  to  Hazel,  sitting  by  watching  him 
swing  the  heavy,  double-bitted  ax  on  the  foundation 
logs  of  their  winter  home,  it  all  seemed  foolish,  that 
heaviness  of  heart  which  sometimes  assailed  her.  She 
was  perfectly  happy.  In  each  of  them  the  good,  red 
blood  of  youth  ran  full  and  strong,  offering  ample  se 
curity  against  illness.  They  had  plenty  of  food.  In 
&  few  brief  months  Bill  would  wrest  a  sack  of  gold  from 
the  treasure  house  of  the  North,  and  they  would  jour 
ney  home  by  easy  stages.  Why  should  she  brood? 
It  was  sheer  folly  —  a  mere  ebb  of  spirit. 

Fortune  favored  them  to  the  extent  of  letting  the 
October  storms  remain  in  abeyance  until  Bill  finished 
his  cabin,  with  a  cavernous  fireplace  of  rough  stone 
at  one  end.  He  split  planks  for  a  door  out  of  raw 
timber,  and  graced  his  house  with  two  windows  —  one 
of  four  small  panes  of  glass  carefully  packed  in  their 
bedding  all  the  way  from  Hazleton,  the  other  a  two- 
foot  square  of  deerskin  scraped  parchment  thin; 
opaque  to  the  vision,  it  still  permitted  light  to  enter. 
The  floor  was  plain  earth,  a  condition  Bill  promised 
to  remedy  with  hides  of  moose,  once  his  buildings  were 
completed!.  Rudely  finished,  and  lacking  much  that 
would  have  made  for  comfort,  still  it  served  its  pur 
pose,  and  Hazel  made  shift  contentedly. 

Followed  then  the  erection  of  a  stable  to  shelter  the 


210  NORTH    OF   FIFTY-THREE 

horses.  Midway  of  its  construction  a  cloud  bank  blew 
out  of  the  northeast,  and  a  foot  of  snow  fell.  Then 
it  cleared  to  brilliant  days  of  frost.  Bill  finished  his 
stable.  At  night  he  tied  the  horses  therein.  By  day 
they  were  turned  loose  to  rustle  their  fodder  from  un 
der  the  crisp  snow.  It  was  necessary  to  husband  the 
stock  of  hay,  for  spring  might  be  late. 

After  that  they  went  hunting.  The  third  day  Bill 
shot  two  moose  in  an  open  glade  ten  miles  afield.  It 
took  them  two  more  days  to  haul  in  the  frozen  meat  on 
a  sled. 

"  Looks  like  one  side  of  a  butcher  shop,"  Bill  re 
marked,  viewing  the  dressed  meat  where  it  hung  on  a 
pole  scaffolding  beyond  reach  of  the  wolves. 

"  It  certainly  does,"  Hazel  replied.  "  We'll  never 
eat  all  that." 

"  Probably  not,"  he  smiled.  "  But  there's  nothing 
like  having  plenty.  The  moose  might  emigrate,  you 
know.  I  think  I'll  add  a  deer  to  that  lot  for  variety 
—  if  I  can  find  one." 

He  managed  this  in  the  next  few  days,  and  also 
laid  in  a  stock  of  frozen  trout  by  the  simple  expedient 
of  locating  a  large  pool,  and  netting  the  speckled  deni 
zens  thereof  through  a  hole  in  the  ice. 

So  their  larder  was  amply  supplied.  And,  as  the 
cold  rigidly  tightened  its  grip,  and  succeeding  snows 
deepened  the  white  blanket  till  snowshoes  became  im 
perative,  Bill  began  to  string  out  a  line  of  traps. 


CHAPTER  XX 

BOREAS    CHANTS   HIS    LAY 

December  winged  by,  the  days  succeeding  each  other 
like  glittering  panels  on  a  black  ground  of  long,  drear 
nights.  Christmas  came.  They  mustered  up  some 
thing  of  the  holiday  spirit,  dining  gayly  off  a  roast  of 
caribou.  For  the  occasion  Hazel  had  saved  the  last 
half  dozen  potatoes.  With  the  material  at  her  com 
mand  she  evolved  a  Christmas  pudding,  serving  it  with 
brandy  sauce.  And  after  satisfying  appetites  bred  of 
a  morning  tilt  with  Jack  Frost  along  Bill's  trap  line, 
they  spent  a  pleasant  hour  picturing  their  next  Christ 
mas.  There  would  be  holly  and  bright  lights  and 
music  —  the  festival  spirit  freed  of  all  restraint. 

The  new  year  was  born  in  a  wild  smother  of  flying 
snow,  which  died  at  dawn  to  let  a  pale,  heatless  sun 
peer  tentatively  over  the  southern  mountains,  his  slant 
ing  beams  setting  everything  aglitter.  Frost  particles 
vibrated  in  the  air,  coruscating  diamond  dust.  Under 
foot,  on  the  path  beaten  betwixt  house  and  stable,  the 
snow  crunched  and  complained  as  they  walked,  and  in 
the  open  where  the  mad  winds  had  piled  it  in  hard, 
white  windrows.  But  in  the  thick  woods  it  lay  as  it 
had  fallen,  full  five  foot  deep,  a  downy  wrapping  for 
the  slumbering  earth,  over  which  Bill  Wagstaff  flitted 
on  his  snowshoes  as  silently  as  a  ghost  —  a  fur-clad 


412  NOPTH    OF    FIFTY-THREE 

ghost,  however,  who  bore  a  rifle  on  his  shoulder,  and 
whose  breath  exhaled  in  white,  steamy  puffs. 

Gold  or  no  gold,  the  wild  land  was  giving  up  its 
treasure  to  them.  Already  the  catch  of  furs  totaled 
ninety  marten,  a  few  mink,  a  dozen  wolves  —  and  two 
pelts  of  that  rara  avis,  the  silver  fox.  Around  twelve 
hundred  dollars,  Bill  estimated,  with  four  months  yet 
to  trap.  And  the  labor  of  tending  the  trap  lines,  of 
skinning  and  stretching  the  catch,  served  to  keep  them 
both  occupied  —  Hazel  as  much  as  he,  for  she  went 
out  with  him  on  all  but  the  hardest  trips.  So  that 
their  isolation  in  the  hushed,  white  world  where  the 
frost  ruled  with  an  iron  hand  had  not  so  far  become 
oppressive.  They  were  too  busy  to  develop  that  dour 
affliction  of  the  spirit  which  loneliness  and  idleness 
breed  through  the  long  winters  of  the  North. 

A  day  or  two  after  the  first  of  the  year  Roaring  Bill 
set  out  to  go  over  one  of  the  uttermost  trap  lines. 
Five  minutes  after  closing  the  door  he  was  back. 

*'  Easy  with  that  fire,  little  person,"  he  cautioned. 
"  She's  blowing  out  of  the  northwest  again.  The 
sparks  are  sailing  pretty  high.  Keep  your  eye  on  it, 
Hazel." 

"All  right,  Billum,"  she  replied.  "Ill  be  care 
ful." 

Not  more  than  fifty  yards  separated  the  house  and 
stable.  At  the  stable  end  stood  the  stack  of  hay,  a 
low  hummock  above  the  surrounding1  drift.  Except 
for  the  place  where  Bill  daily  removed  the  supply  for 
his  horses  there  was  not  much  foothold  for  a  spark, 

overlaid  the  greater  part  of 


BOREAS    CHANTS    HIS    LAY          213 

the  top.  But  there  was  that  chance  of  catastrophe. 
The  chimney  of  their  fireplace  yawned  wide  to  the  sky, 
vomiting  sparks  and  ash  like  a  miniature  volcano  when 
the  fire  was  roughly  stirred,  or  an  extra  heavy  supply 
of  dry  wood  laid  on.  When  the  wind  whistled  out  of  the 
northwest  the  line  of  flight  was  fair  over  the  stack.  It 
behooved  them  to  watch  wind  and  fire.  By  keeping  a 
bed  of  coals  and  laying  on  a  stick  or  two  at  a  time  a 
gale  might  roar  across  the  chimney-top  without  sucking 
forth  a  spark  large  enough  to  ignite  the  hay.  Hence 
Bill's  warning.  He  had  spoken  of  it  before. 

Hazel  washed  up  her  breakfast  dishes,  and  set  the 
cabin  in  order  according  to  her  housewifely  instincts. 
Then  she  curled  up  in  the  chair  which  Bill  had  pains 
takingly  constructed  for  her  especial  comfort  with  only 
ax  and  knife  for  tools.  She  was  working  up  a  pair 
of  moccasins  after  an  Indian  pattern,  and  she  grew 
wholly  absorbed  in  the  task,  drawing  stitch  after  stitch 
of  sinew  strongly  and  neatly  into  place.  The  hours 
flicked  past  in  unseemly  haste,  so  completely  was  she 
engrossed.  When  at  length  the  soreness  of  her  fingers 
warned  her  that  she  had  been  at  work  a  long  time,  she 
looked  at  her  watch. 

"  Goodness  me !  Bill's  due  home  any  time,  and  I 
haven't  a  thing  ready  to  eat,"  she  exclaimed.  "  And 
here's  my  fire  nearly  out." 

She  piled  on  wood,  and  stirring  the  coals  under  it, 
fanned  them  with  her  husband's  old  felt  hat,  forgetful 
of  sparks  or  aught  but  that  she  should  be  cooking 
against  his  hungry  arrival.  Outside,  the  wind  blew 
lustily,  driving  the  loose  snow  across  the  open  in  long, 


NORTH    OF    FIFTY-THREE 

wavering  ribbons.  But  she  had  forgotten  that  it  was 
in  the  dangerous  quarter,  and  she  did  not  recall  that 
important  fact  even  when  she  sat  down  again  to  watch 
her  moose  steaks  broil  on  the  glowing  coals  raked  apart 
from  the  leaping  blaze.  The  flames  licked  into  the 
throat  of  the  chimney  with  the  purr  of  a  giant  cat. 

No  sixth  sense  warned  her  of  impending  calamity. 
It  burst  upon  her  with  startling  abruptness  only  when 
she  opened  the  door  to  throw  out  some  scraps  of  dis 
carded  meat,  for  the  blaze  of  the  burning  stack  shot 
thirty  feet  in  the  air,  and  the  smoke  rolled  across  the 
meadow  in  a  sooty  manner. 

Bareheaded,  in  a  thin  pair  of  moccasins,  without 
coat  or  mittens  to  fend  her  from  the  lance-toothed 
frost,  Hazel  ran  to  the  stable.  She  could  get  the 
horses  out,  perhaps,  before  the  log  walls  became  their 
crematory.  But  Bill,  coming  in  from  his  traps, 
reached  the  stable  first,  and  there  was  nothing  for  her 
to  do  but  stand  and  watch  with  a  sickening  self-re 
proach.  He  untied  and  clubbed  the  reluctant  horses 
outside.  Already  the  stable  end  against  the  hay  was 
shooting  up  tongues  of  flame.  As  the  blaze  lapped 
swiftly  over  the  roof  and  ate  into  the  walls,  the  horses 
struggled  through  the  deep  drift,  lunging  desperately 
to  gain  a  few  yards,  then  turned  to  stand  with  ears 
pricked  up  at  the  strange  sight,  shivering  in  the  bitter 
northwest  wind  that  assailed  their  bare,  unprotected 
bodies. 

Bill  himself  drew  back  from  the  fire,  and  stared  at  it 
fixedly.  He  kept  silence  until  Hazel  timidly  put  her 
hand  on  his  arm. 


BOREAS    CHANTS    HIS    LAY          215 

"  You  watched  that  fire  all  right,  didn't  you  ?  "  he 
said  then. 

"  Bill,  Bill ! "  she  cried.  But  he  merely  shrugged 
his  shoulders,  and  kept  his  gaze  fixed  on  the  burning 
stable. 

To  Hazel,  shivering  with  the  cold,  even  close  as  she 
was  to  the  intense  heat,  it  seemed  an  incredibly  short 
time  till  a  glowing  mound  below  the  snow  level  was  all 
that  remained;  a  black-edged  pit  that  belched  smoke 
and  sparks.  That  and  five  horses  humped  tail  to  the 
driving  wind,  stolidly  enduring.  She  shuddered  with 
something  besides  the  cold.  And  then  Bill  spoke  ab 
sently,  his  eyes  still  on  the  smoldering  heap. 

"  Five  feet  of  caked  snow  on  top  of  every  blade  of 
grass,"  she  heard  him  mutter.  "  They  can't  browse 
on  trees,  like  deer.  Aw,  hell !  " 

He  had  stuck  his  rifle  butt  first  in  the  snow.  He 
walked  over  to  it;  Hazel  followed.  When  he  stood, 
with  the  rifle  slung  in  the  crook  of  his  arm,  she  tried 
again  to  break  through  this  silent  aloofness  which  cut 
her  more  deeply  than  any  harshness  of  speech  could 
have  done. 

"  Bill,  I'm  so  sorry !  "  she  pleaded.  "  It's  terrible. 
I  know.  What  can  we  do?  " 

"  Do  ?  Huh !  "  he  snorted.  "  If  I  ever  have  to  die 
before  my  time,  I  hope  it  will  be  with  a  full  belly  and 
my  head  in  the  air  —  and  mercifully  swift." 

Even  then  she  had  no  clear  idea  of  his  intention. 
She  looked  up  at  him  pleadingly,  but  he  was  staring  at 
the  horses,  his  teeth  biting  nervously  at  his  under  lip. 
Suddenly  he  blinked,  and  she  saw  his  eyes  moisten.  In 


216  NORTH    OF   FIFTY-THREE 

the  same  instant  he  threw  up  the  rifle.  At  the  thin, 
vicious  crack  of  it,  Silk  collapsed. 

She  understood  then.  With  her  hand  pressed  hard 
over  her  mouth  to  keep  back  the  hysterical  scream  that 
threatened,  she  fled  to  the  house.  Behind  her  the  rifle 
spat  forth  its  staccato  message  of  death.  For  a  few 
seconds  the  mountains  flung  whiplike  echoes  back  and 
forth  in  a  volley.  Then  the  sibilant  voice  of  the  wind 
alone  broke  the  stillness. 

Numbed  with  the  cold,  terrified  at  the  elemental  ruth- 
lessness  of  it  all,  she  threw  herself  on  the  bed,  denied 
even  the  relief  of  tears.  Dry-eyed  and  heavy-hearted, 
she  waited  her  husband's  coming,  and  dreading  it  — • 
for  the  first  time  she  had  seen  her  Bill  look  on  her  with 
cold,  critical  anger.  For  an  interminable  time  she  lay 
listening  for  the  click  of  the  latch,  every  nerve  strung 
tight. 

He  came  at  last,  and  the  thump  of  his  rifle  as  he 
stood  it  against  the  wall  had  no  more  than  sounded  be 
fore  he  was  bending  over  her.  He  sat  down  on  the 
edge  of  the  bed,  and  putting  his  arm  across  her  shoul 
ders,  turned  her  gently  so  that  she  faced  him. 

"  Never  mind,  little  person,"  he  whispered.  "  It's 
done  and  over.  I'm  sorry  I  slashed  at  you  the  way  I 
did.  That's  a  fool  man's  way  —  if  he's  hurt  and  sore 
he  always  has  to  jump  on  somebody  else." 

Then  by  some  queer  complexity  of  her  woman's  na 
ture  the  tears  forced  their  way.  She  did  not  want  to 
cry  —  only  the  weak  and  mushy-minded  wept.  She 
had  always  fought  back  tears  unless  she  was  shaken  to 
the  roots  of  her  soul.  But  it  was  almost  a  relief  to 


BOREAS   CHANTS   HIS   LAY         217 

cry  with  Bill's  arm  holding  her  close.  And  it  was 
brief.  She  sat  up  beside  him  presently.  He  held  her 
hand  tucked  in  between  his  own  two  palms,  but  he 
looked  wistfully  at  the  window,  as  if  he  were  seeing 
what  lay  beyond. 

"  Poor,  dumb  devils !  "  he  murmured.  "  I  feel  like 
a  murderer.  But  it  was  pure  mercy  to  them.  They 
won't  suffer  the  agony  of  frost,  nor  the  slow  pain  of 
starvation.  That's  what  it  amounted  to  —  they'd 
starve  if  they  didn't  freeze  first.  I've  known  men  I 
would  rather  have  shot.  I  bucked  many  a  hard  old  trail 
with  Silk  and  Satin.  Poor,  dumb  devils !  " 

"  D-don't,  Bill !  "  she  cried  forlornly.  "  I  know  it's 
my  fault.  I  let  the  fire  almost  go  out,  and  then  built 
it  up  big  without  thinking.  And  I  know  being  sorry 
doesn't  make  any  difference.  But  please  —  I  don't 
want  to  be  miserable  over  it.  I'll  never  be  care 
less  again." 

"  All  right ;  I  won't  talk  about  it,  hon,"  he  said.  "  I 
don't  think  you  will  ever  be  careless  about  such  things 
again.  The  North  won't  let  us  get  away  with  it.  The 
wilderness  is  bigger  than  we  are,  and  it's  merciless  if 
we  make  mistakes." 

"  I  see  that."  She  shuddered  involuntarily.  "  It's 
a  grim  country.  It  frightens  me." 

"  Don't  let  it,"  he  said  tenderly.  "  So  long  as  we 
have  our  health  and  strength  we  can  win  out,  and  be 
stronger  for  the  experience.  Winter's  a  tough  prop 
osition  up  here,  but  you  want  to  fight  shy  of  morbid 
brooding  over  things  that  can't  be  helped.  This  ever 
lasting  frost  and  snow  will  be  gone  by  and  by.  It'll 


2i8  NORTH    OF    FIFTY-THREE 

be  spring.  'And  everything  looks  different  when  there'* 
green  grass  and  flowers,  and  the  sun  is  warm.  Buck 
up,  old  girl- — Bill's  still  on  the  job." 

"  How  can  you  prospect  in  the  spring  without  horses 
to  pack  the  outfit?  "  she  asked,  after  a  little.  "  How 
can  we  get  out  of  here  with  all  the  stuff  we'll  have  ?  " 

"  We'll  manage  it,"  he  assured  lightly.  "  We'll  get 
put  with  our  furs  and  gold,  all  right,  and  we  won't  go 
hungry  on  the  way,  even  if  we  have  no  pack  train. 
Leave  it  to  me." 


JACK    FROST    WITHDRAW* 

All  through  the  month  of  January  each  evening,  as 
dusk  folded  its  somber  mantle  about  the  meadow,  the 
wolves  gathered  to  feast  on  the  dead  horses,  till  Hazel's 
nerves  were  strained  to  the  snapping  point.  Contin 
ually  she  was  reminded  of  that  vivid  episode,  of  which 
she  had  been  the  unwitting  cause.  Sometimes  she  would 
open  the  door,  and  from  out  the  dark  would  arise  the 
sound  of  wolfish  quarrels  over  the  feast,  disembodied 
snappings  and  snarlings.  Or  when  the  low-swimming 
moon  shed  a  misty  glimmer  on  the  open  she  would  peer 
through  a  thawed  place  on  the  window-pane,  and  see 
gray  shapes  circling  about  the  half-picked  skeletons. 
Sometimes,  when  Bill  was  gone,  and  all  about  the  cabin 
was  utterly  still,  one,  bolder  or  hungrier  than  his  fel 
lows,  would  trot  across  the  meadow,  drawn  by  the  scent 
of  the  meat.  Two  or  three  of  these  Hazel  shot  with 
her  own  rifle. 

But  when  February  marked  another  span  on  the  cal 
endar  the  wolves  came  no  more.  The  bones  were  clean. 

There  was  no  impending  misfortune  or  danger  that 
she  could  point  to  or  forecast  with  certitude.  Never 
theless,  struggle  against  it  as  she  might,  knowing  it 
for  pure  psychological  phenomena  arising  out  of  her 
harsh  environment,  Hazel  suffered  continual  vague 


220  NORTH    OF    FIFTY-THREE 

forebodings.  The  bald,  white  peaks  seemed  to  sur 
round  her  like  a  prison  from  which  there  could  be  no 
release.  From  day  to  day  she  was  harassed  by  dismal 
thoughts.  She  would  wake  in  the  night  clutching  at 
her  husband.  Such  days  as  he  went  out  alone  she 
passed  in  restless  anxiety.  Something  would  happen. 
What  it  would  be  she  did  not  know,  but  to  her  it  seemed 
that  the  bleak  stage  was  set  for  untoward  drama,  and 
they  two  the  puppets  that  must  play. 

She  strove  against  this  impression  with  cold  logic ; 
but  reason  availed  nothing  against  the  feeling  that  the 
North  had  but  to  stretch  forth  its  mighty  hand  and 
crush  them  utterly.  But  all  of  this  she  concealed  from 
Bill.  She  was  ashamed  of  her  fears,  the  groundless 
uneasiness.  Yet  it  was  a  constant  factor  in  her  daily 
life,  and  it  sapped  her  vitality  as  surely  and  steadily 
as  lack  of  bodily  nourishment  could  have  done. 

Had  there  been  in  her  make-up  any  inherent  weak 
ness  of  mentality,  Hazel  might  perhaps  have  brooded 
herself  into  neurasthenia.  Few  save  those  who  have 
actually  experienced  complete  isolation  for  extended 
periods  can  realize  the  queer,  warped  outlook  such  an 
existence  imposes  on  the  human  mind,  if  that  mind  is  a 
trifle  more  than  normally  sensitive  to  impressions,  and 
a  nature  essentially  social  both  by  inclination  and  habit. 
In  the  first  months  of  their  marriage  she  had  assured 
herself  and  him  repeatedly  that  she  could  be  perfectly 
happy  and  contented  any  place  on  earth  with  Bill 
Wagstaff. 

Emotion  has  blinded  wiser  folk,  and  perhaps  that  is 
merely  a  little  device  of  nature's,  for  if  one  could  look 


JACK   FROST   WITHDRAWS          221 

into  the  future  with  too  great  a  clarity  of  vision  there 
would  be  fewer  matings.  In  the  main  her  declaration 
still  held  true.  She  loved  her  husband  with  the  same 
intensity;  possibly  even  more,  for  she  had  found  in  him 
none  of  the  flaws  which  every  woman  dreads  that 
time  and  association  may  bring  to  light  in  her  chosen 
mate. 

When  Bill  drew  her  up  close  in  his  arms,  the  in 
tangible  menace  of  the  wilderness  and  all  the  dreary 
monotony  of  the  days  faded  into  the  background.  But 
they,  no  more  than  others  who  have  tried  and  failed  for 
lack  of  understanding,  could  not  live  their  lives  with 
their  heads  in  an  emotional  cloud.  For  every  action 
there  must  be  a  corresponding  reaction.  They  who  have 
the  capacity  to  reach  the  heights  must  likewise,  upon  oc 
casion,  plumb  the  depths.  Life,  she  began  to  realize, 
resolved  itself  into  an  unending  succession  of  little, 
trivial  things,  with  here  and  there  some  great  event 
looming  out  above  all  the  rest  for  its  bestowal  of  hap 
piness  or  pain,  f 

Bill  knew.  He  often  talked  about  such  things. 
She  was  beginning  to  understand  that  he  had  a  far 
more  comprehensive  grasp  of  the  fundamentals  of  ex 
istence  that  she  had.  He  had  explained  to  her  that 
the  individual  unit  was  nothing  outside  of  his  groupj 
affiliations,  and  she  applied  that  to  herself  in  a  prac 
tical  way  in  an  endeavor  to  analyze  herself.  She  was 
a  group  product,  and  only  under  group  conditions 
could  her  life  flow  along  nonirritant  lines.  Such  be 
ing  the  case,  it  followed  that  if  Bill  persisted  in  living 
out  of  the  world  they  would  eventually  drift  apart,  in 


222  NORTH    OF    FIFTY-THREE 

spirit  if  not   in   actuality.     And  that  was   an  absurd 
summing-up. 

She  rejected  the  conclusion  decisively.  For  was  not 
their  present  situation  the  net  result  of  a  concrete  en 
deavor  to  strike  a  balance  between  the  best  of  what 
both  the  wilderness  and  the  humming  cities  had  to  offer 
them?  It  seemed  treason  to  Bill  to  long  for  other 
voices  and  other  faces.  Yet  she  could  not  help  the 
feeling.  She  wondered  if  he,  too,  did  not  sometimes 
long  for  company  besides  her  own.  And  the  thought 
stirred  up  a  perverse  jealousy.  They  two,  perfectly 
mated  in  all  things,  should  be  able  to  make  their  own 
little  world  complete  —  but  they  could  not,  she  knew. 
Life  was  altogether  too  complex  an  affair  to  be  solved 
in  so  primitive  a  fashion.  She  felt  that  continued  liv 
ing  under  such  conditions  would  drive  her  mad;  that 
if  she  stayed  long  enough  under  the  somber  shadow  of 
the  Klappan  Range  she  would  hate  the  North  and  all 
it  contained. 

That  would  have  been  both  unjust  and  absurd,  so 
she  set  herself  resolutely  to  overcome  that  feeling  of 
oppression.  She  was  too  well-balanced  to  drift  unwit 
tingly  along  this  perilous  road  of  thought.  She 
schooled  herself  to  endure  and  to  fight  off  introspec 
tion.  She  had  absorbed  enough  of  her  husband's 
'  sturdy  philosophy  of  life  to  try  and  make  the  best  of 
a  bad  job.  After  all,  she  frequently  assured  herself, 
the  badness  of  the  job  was  mostly  a  state  of  mind. 
And  she  had  a  growing  conviction  that  Bill  sensed  the 
struggle,  and  that  it  hurt  him.  For  that  reason, 
if  for  no  other,  she  did  her  best  to  make  light  of  the 


JACK    FROST   WITHDRAWS          223 

grim   environment,   and  to  wait  patiently   for   spring. 

February  and  March  stormed  a  path  furiously 
across  the  calendar.  Higher  and  higher  the  drifts 
piled  about  the  cabin,  till  at  length  it  was  banked  to 
the  eaves  with  snow  save  whe^e  Bill  shoveled  it  away  to 
let  light  to  the  windows.  Day  after  day  they  kept  in 
doors,  stoking  up  the  fire,  listening  to  the  triumphant 
whoop  of  the  winds. 

"  Snow,  snow !  "  Hazel  burst  out  one  day.  "  Frost 
that  cuts  you  like  a  knife.  I  wonder  if  there's  ever 
going  to  be  an  end  to  it?  I  wish  we  were  home  again 
—  or  some  place." 

"So  do  I,  little  person,"  Bill  said  gently.  "But 
spring's  almost  at  the  door.  Hang  on  a  little  longer. 
We've  made  a  fair  stake,  anyway,  if  we  don't  wash  an 
ounce  of  gold." 

Hazel  let  her  gaze  wander  over  the  pelts  hanging 
thick  from  ridge  log  and  wall.  Bill  had  fared  well 
at  his  trapping.  Over  two  thousand  dollars  he  esti 
mated  the  value  of  his  catch. 

"  How  are  we  going  to  get  it  all  out  ?  "  She  voiced 
a  troublesome  thought. 

"  Shoulder  pack  to  the  Skeena,"  he  answered!  la 
conically.  "  Build  a  dugout  there,  arid  float  down 
stream.  Portage  the  rapids  as  they  come." 

"  Oh,  Bill ! "  she  came  and  leaned  her  head  against 
him  contritely.  "  Our  poor  ponies !  And  it  was  all 
my  carelessness.'* 

"  Never  mind,  hon,"  he  comforted.  "  They  blinked 
out  without  suffering.  And  we'll  make  it  like  a  charm, 
Be  game  —  it'll  soon  be  spring." 


224          NORTH   OF    FIFTY-THREE 

As  if  in  verification  of  his  words,  with  the  last  breath 
of  that  howling  storm  came  a  sudden  softening  of  the 
atmosphere.  The  sharp  teeth  of  the  frost  became 
swiftly  blunted,  and  the  sun,  swinging  daily  in  a  wider 
arc,  brought  the  battery  of  his  rays  into  effective  play 
on  the  mountainsides.  The  drifts  lessened,  shrunk,,  be 
came  moisture  sodden.  For  ten  days  or  more  the 
gradual  thaw  increased.  Then  a  lusty-lunged  chinook 
wind  came  booming  up  along  the  Klappan  Range,  and 
stripped  it  to  a  bare,  steaming  heap.  Overhead 
whistled  the  first  flight  of  the  wild  goose,  bound  for 
the  nesting  grounds.  Night  and  day  the  roar  of  a 
dozen  cataracts  droned  on  all  sides  of  the  basin,  as  the 
melting  snow  poured  down  in  the  annual  spring  flood. 

By  April  the  twentieth  the  abdication  of  Jack  Frost 
was  complete.  A  kindlier  despot  ruled  the  land,  and 
Bill  Wagstaff  began  to  talk  of  gold. 


CHAPTER  XXH 

THE    STRIKE 

tt.  .  .  that  precious  yellow  metal  sought  by  men 
In  regions  desolate. 

Pursued  in  patient  hope  or  furious  toil; 
Breeder  of  discord,  wars,  and  murderous  hate; 

The  victor's  spoil." 

So  Hazel  quoted,  leaning  »ver  her  husband's  shoul 
der.  In  the  bottom  of  his  pan,  shining  among  a  film 
of  black  sand,  lay  half  a  dozen  bright  specks,  varying 
from  pin-point  size  to  the  bigness  of  a  grain  of  wheat. 

"  That's  the  stuff,"  Bill  murmured.  "  Only  it  seems 
rather  far-fetched  for  your  poet  to  blame  inanimate 
matter  for  the  cussedness  of  humanity  in  general.  I 
suppose,  though,  he  thought  he  was  striking  a  highly 
dramatic  note.  Anyway,  it  looks  as  if  we'd  struck  it 
pretty  fair.  It's  time,  too  —  the  June  rise  will  hit 
us  like  a  whirlwind  one  of  these  days." 

"  About  what  is  the  value  of  those  little  pieces  ?  " 
Hazel  asked. 

"  Oh,  fifty  or  sixty  cents,"  he  answered.  "  Not  much 
by  itself.  But  it  seems  to  be  uniform  over  the  bar  — 
and  I  can  wash  a  good  many  pans  in  a  day's  work." 

"  I  should  think  so,"  she  remarked.  "  It  didn't  take 
you  ten  minutes  to  do  that  one." 

"  Whitey  Lewis  and  I  took  out  over  two  hundred 


226          NORTH    OF   FIFTY-THREE 

dollars  a  day  on  that  other  creek  last  spring  —  no>  a 
year  last  spring,  it  was,"  he  observed  reminiscently. 
"  This  isn't  as  good,  but  it's  not  to  be  sneezed  at,  either. 
I  think  I'll  make  me  a  rocker.  I've  sampled  this  bend 
quite  a  lot,  and  I  don't  think  I  can  do  any  better  than 
fly  at  this  while  the  water  stays  low." 

"  I  can  help,  can't  I  ?  "  she  said  eagerly. 

"  Sure,"  he  smiled.  "  You  help  a  lot,  little  person, 
just  sitting  around  keeping  me  company." 

"  But  I  want  to  work,"  she  declared.  "  I've  sat 
around  now  till  I'm  getting  the  fidgets." 

"  All  right ;  I'll  give  you  a  j  ob,"  he  returned  good- 
naturedly.  "  Meantime,  let's  eat  that  lunch  you 
packed  up  here." 

In  a  branch  of  the  creek  which  flowed  down  through 
the  basin,  Bill  had  found  plentiful  colors  as  soon  as 
the  first  big  run-off  of  water  had  fallen.  He  had  fol 
lowed  upstream  painstakingly,  panning  colors  always, 
and  now  and  then  a  few  grains  of  coarse  gold  to  en 
courage  him  in  the  quest.  The  loss  of  their  horses 
precluded  ranging  far  afield  to  that  other  glacial 
stream  which  he  had  worked  with  Whitey  Lewis  when 
he  was  a  free  lance  in  the  North.  He  was  close  to  his 
base  of  supplies,  and  he  had  made  wages  —  with  always 
the  prospector's  lure  of  a  rich  strike  on  the  next  bare 

And  now,  with  May  well  advanced,  he  had  found  def 
inite  indications  of  good  pay  dirt.  The  creek  swung 
in  a  hairpin  curve,  and  in  the  neck  between  the  two 
sides  of  the  loop  the  gold  was  sifted  through  wash 
gravel  and  black  sand,  piled  there  by  God  only 
knew  how  many  centuries  of  glacial  drift  and  flood. 


THE    STRIKE  227 

But  it  w&s  there.  He  had  taken  panfuls  at  random 
over  the  bar,  and  uniformly  it  gave  up  coarse  gold. 
With  a  rocker  he  stood  a  fair  chance  of  big  money  be 
fore  the  June  rise. 

"  In  the  morning,"  said  he,  when  lunch  was  over, 
"  I'll  bring  along  the  ax  and  some  nails  and  a  shovel, 
and  get  busy." 

That  night  they  trudged  down  to  the  cabin  in  high 
spirits.  Bill  had  washed  out  enough  during  the  after 
noon  to  make  a  respectable  showing  on  Hazel's  out 
spread  handkerchief.  And  Hazel  was  in  a  gleeful 
mood  over  the  fact  that  she  had  unearthed  a  big  nug 
get  by  herself.  Beginner's  luck,  Bill  said  teasingly, 
but  that  did  not  diminish  her  elation.  The  old,  ad- 
Venturous  glamour,  which  the  long  winter  and  moods  of 
depression  had  worn  threadbare,  began  to  cast  its  pleas 
ant  spell  over  her  again.  The  fascination  of  the  gold 
hunt  gripped  her.  Not  for  the  stuff  itself,  but  for 
what  it  would  get.  She  wondered  if  the  men  who 
dared  the  impassive  solitudes  of  the  North  for  weary, 
lonesome  years  saw  in  every  morsel  of  the  gold  they 
found  a  picture  of  what  that  gold  would  buy  them  in 
kindlier  lands.  And  some  never  found  any,  never  won 
the  stake  that  would  justify  the  gamble.  It  was  a 
gamble,  in  a  sense  —  a  pure  game  of  chance ;  but  a 
game  that  took  strength,  and  nerve,  a  sturdy  soul,  to 
play. 

Still,  the  gold  was  there,  locked  up  in  divers  storing 
places  in  the  lap  of  the  earth,  awaiting  those  virile 
enough  to  find  and  take.  And  out  beyond,  in  the 
crowded  places  of  the  earth,  were  innumerable  gate- 


228  NORTH    OF    FIFTY-THREE 

ways  to  comfort  and  pleasure  which  could  be  opened 
with  gold.  It  remained  only  to  balance  the  one  against 
the  other.  Just  as  she  had  often  planned  according 
to  her  opportunities  when  she  was  a  wage  slave  in 
the  office  of  Bush  and  Company,  so  now  did  she  plan 
for  the  future  on  a  broader  scale,  now  that  the  North 
promised  to  open  its  treasure  vault  to  them  —  an  at 
titude  which  Bill  Wagstaff  encouraged  and  abetted  in 
his  own  whimsical  fashion.  There  was  nothing  too 
good  for  them,  he  sometimes  observed,  provided  it  could 
be  got.  But  there  was  one  profound  difference  in  their 
respective  temperaments,  Hazel  sometimes  reflected. 
Bill  would  shrug  his  wide  shoulders,  and  forget  or  forego 
the  unattainable,  where  she  would  chafe  and  fume. 
She  was  quite  positive  of  this. 

But  as  the  days  passed  there  seemed  no  question  of 
their  complete  success.  Bill  fabricated  his  rocker,  a 
primitive,  boxlike  device  with  a  blanket  screen  and 
transverse  slats  below.  It  was  faster  than  the  pan, 
even  rude  as  it  was,  and  it  caught  all  but  the  finer  par 
ticles  of  gold.  Hazel  helped  operate  the  rocker,  and 
took  her  turn  at  shoveling  or  filling  the  box  with  water 
while  Bill  rocked.  Each  day's  end  sent  her  to  her  bed 
healthily  tired,  but  happily  conscious  that  she  had 
helped  to  accomplish  something. 

A  queer  twist  of  luck  put  the  cap-sheaf  on  their  un 
dertaking.  Hazel  ran  a  splinter  of  wood  into  her 
hand,  thus  putting  a  stop  to  her  activities  with  shovel 
and  pail.  Until  the  wound  lost  its  soreness  she  was 
forced  to  sit  idle.  She  could  watch  Bill  ply  his  rocker 
while  she  fought  flies  on  the  bank.  This  grew  tire- 


THE    STRIKE  229 

some,  particularly  since  she  had  the  sense  to  realize 
that  a  man  who  works  with  sweat  streaming  down  his 
face  and  a  mind  wholly  absorbed  in  the  immediate  task 
has  no  desire  to  be  bothered  with  inconsequential  chat 
ter.  So  she  rambled  along  the  creek  one  afternoon, 
armed  with  hook  and  line  on  a  pliant  willow  in  search 
of  sport. 

The  trout  were  hungry,  and  struck  fiercely  at  the 
bait.  She  soon  had  plenty  for  supper  and  breakfast. 
Wherefore  she  abandoned  that  diversion,  and  took  to 
prying  tentatively  in  the  lee  of  certain  bowlders  on 
the  edge  of  the  creek  —  prospecting  on  her  own  initia 
tive,  as  it  were.  She  had  no  pan,  and  only  one  hand 
to  work  with,  but  she  knew  gold  when  she  saw  it  —  and, 
after  all,  it  was  but  an  idle  method  of  killing  time. 

She  noticed  behind  each  rock  and  in  every  shallow, 
sheltered  place  in  the  stream  a  plentiful  gathering  of 
tiny  red  stones.  They  were  of  a  pale,  ruby  cast,  and 
mostly  flawed;  dainty  trifles,  translucent  and  full  of 
light  when  she  held  them  to  the  sun.  She  began  a 
search  for  a  larger  specimen.  It  might  mount  nicely 
into  a  stickpin  for  Bill,  she  thought;  a  memento  of  the 
Klappan  Range. 

And  in  this  search  she  came  upon  a  large,  rusty 
pebble,  snuggled  on  the  downstream  side  of  an  over 
hanging  rock  right  at  the  water's  edge.  It  attracted 
her  first  by  its  symmetrical  form,  a  perfect  oval;  then, 
when  she  lifted  it,  by  its  astonishing  weight.  She  con 
tinued  her  search  for  the  pinkish-red  stones,  carrying 
the  rusty  pebble  along.  Presently  she  worked  her  way 
back  to  where  Roaring  Bill  labored  prodigiously. 


230          NORTH   OF   FIFTY-THREE 

"  I   feel  ashamed  to  be  loafing  while  you  work   so 
hard,  Billy-boy,"  she  greeted. 

"  Give  me  a  kiss  and  I'll  call  it  square,"  he  proposed 
cheerfully.     "  Got  to  work  like  a  beaver,  kid.     This 
hot  weatker3!!  put  us  to  the  bad  before  long.     There'll 
be  ten  feet  of  water  roaring  down  here  one  of  these; 
days." 

"Ix>ok  at  these  pretty  stones  I  found,"  she  said. 
"What  are  they,  Bill?" 

"  Those? "  He  looked  at  her  outstretched  palm. 
"  Garnets." 

"  Garnets?  They  must  be  valuable,  then,"  she  ob 
served.  "  The  creek's  full  of  them." 

"Valuable?  I  should  say  so,"  he  grinned.  "I  sent 
a  sample  to  a  Chicago  firm  once.  They  replied  to  the 
Affect  that  they  would  take  all  I  could  deliver,  and  pay 
chirty-six  dollars  a  ton,  f.  o.  b.,  my  nearest  railroad 
station." 

"  Oh !  "  she  protested.     **  But  they're  pretty." 

"  Yes,  if  you  can  find  one  of  any  size.  What's  the 
other  rock  ?  "  he  inquired  casually.  "  You  making  a 
collection  of  specimens?  " 

"  That's  just  a  funny  stone  I  found,"  she  returned. 
"  It  must  be  iron  or  something.  It's  terribly  heavy 
for  its  size." 

"  Eh?     Let  me  see  it,"  he  said. 

She  handed  it  over. 

He  weighed  it  in  his  palm,  scrutinized  it  closely, 
turning  it  over  and  over.  Then  he  took  out  his  knife 
and  scratched  the  rusty  surface  vigorously  for  a  few 
minutes. 


THE    STRIKE  231 

"  Huh ! "  he  grunted.  "  Look  at  your  funny 
stone." 

He  held  it  out  for  her  inspection.  The  blade  of  his 
knife  had  left  a  dull,  yellow  scar. 

"  Oh !  "  she  gasped.      "  Why  —  it's  gold !  " 

"  It  is,  woman,"  he  declaimed,  with  mock  solemnity. 
"  Gold  —  glittering  gold ! 

"  Say,  where  did  you  find  this  ?  "  he  asked,  when 
Hazel  stared  at  the  nugget,  dumb  in  the  face  of  this 
unexpected  stroke  of  fortune. 

"  Just  around  the  second  bend,"  she  cried.  "  Oh, 
Bill,  do  you  suppose  there's  any  more  there  ?  " 

"  Lead  me  to  it  with  my  trusty  pan  and  shovel,  and 
we'll  see,"  Bill  smiled. 

Forthwith  they  set  out.  The  overhanging  bowlder 
was  a  scant  ten  minute's  walk  up  the  creek. 

Bill  leaned  on  his  shovel,  and  studied  the  ground. 
Then,  getting  down  on  his  knees  at  the  spot  where 
the  marks  of  Hazel's  scratching  showed  plain  enough, 
he  began  to  paw  over  the  gravel. 

Within  five  minutes  his  fingers  brought  to  light  a 
second  lump,  double  the  size  of  her  find.  Close  upon 
that  he  winnowed  a  third.  Hazel  leaned  over  him, 
breathless.  He  sifted  the  gravel  and  sand  through  his 
fingers  slowly,  picking  out  and  examining  all  that 
might  be  the  precious  metal,  and  as  he  picked  and 
clawed  the  rusty,  brown  nuggets  came  to  light.  At 
last  he  reached  bottom.  The  bowlder  thrust  out  be 
low  in  a  natural  shelf.  From  this  Bill  carefully  scraped 
the  accumulation  of  black  sand  and  gravel,  gleaning  as 
a  result  of  his  labor  a  baker's  dozen  of  assorted  chunks 


232  NORTH    OF    FIFTY-THREE 

—  one  giant  that  must  have  weighed  three  pounds. 
He  sat  back  on  his  haunches,  and  looked  at  his  wife, 
speechless. 

"  Is  that  truly  all  gold,  Bill?  "  she  whispered  incredu 
lously. 

"  It  certainly  is  —  as  good  gold  as  ever  went  into 
the  mint,"  he  assured.  "  All  laid  in  a  nice  little  nest 
on  this  shelf  of  rock.  I've  heard  of  such  things  up  in 
this  country,  but  I  never  ran  into  one  before  —  and 
I've  always  taken  this  pocket  theory  with  a  grain  of 
salt.  But  there  you  are.  That's  a  real,  honest-to- 
God  pocket.  And  a  well-lined  one,  if  you  ask  me, 
This  rusty-colored  outside  is  oxidized  iron  —  from 
the  black  sand,  I  guess.  Still,  it  might  be  something' 
else.  But  I  know  what  the  inside  is,  all  right,  all 
right." 

"  My  goodness !  "  she  murmured.  "  There  might  be 
wagonloads  of  it  in  this  creek." 

"There  might,  but  it  isn't  likely."  Bill  shook  his 
head.  "  This  is  a  simon-pure  pocket,  and  it  would 
keep  a  graduate  mineralogist  guessing  to  say  how  it 
got  here,  because  it's  a  different  proposition  from  the 
wash  gold  in  the  creek  bed.  I've  got  all  that's  here,  I'm 
pretty  sure.  And  you  might  prospect  this  creek  from 
end  to  end  and  never  find  another  nugget  bigger  than 
a  pea.  It's  rich  placer  ground,  at  that  —  but  this 
pocket's  almost  unbelievable.  Must  be  forty  pounds 
of  gold  there.  And  you  found  it.  You're  the  original 
mascot,  little  person." 

He  bestowed  a  bearlike  hug  upon  her. 

"  Now  what?  "  she  asked.     "  It  hardly  seems  real  to 


THE    STRIKE  233 

pick  up  several  thousand  dollars  in  half  an  hour  or 
so  like  this.  What  will  we  do  ?  " 

"  Do?  Why,  bless  your  dear  soul,"  he  laughed. 
"  We'll  just  consider  ourselves  extra  lucky,  and  keep 
right  on  with  the  game  till  the  high  water  makes  us 
quit." 

Which  was  a  contingency  nearer  at  hand  than  even 
Bill,  with  a  firsthand  knowledge  of  the  North's  vagaries 
in  the  way  of  flood,  quite  anticipated. 

Three  days  after  the  finding  of  the  pocket  the  whoL? 
floor  of  the  creek  was  awash.  His  rocker  went  dowm 
stream  overnight.  To  the  mouth  of  the  canon  when* 
the  branch  sought  junction  with  the  parent  stream 
they  could  ascend,  and  no  farther.  And  when  Bill 
saw  that  he  rolled  himself  a  cigarette,  and,  putting  on<i 
long  arm  across  his  wife's  shoulders,  said  whimsically: 

"  What  d'you  say  we  start  home?  " 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

THE    STRESS    OF    THE    TRAIL 

I 

Roaring  Bill  dumped  his  second  pack  on  the  summit 
of  the  Klappan,  and  looked  away  to  where  the  valley 
that  opened  out  of  the  basin  showed  its  blurred  hollow 
in  the  distance.  But  he  uttered  no  useless  regrets. 
With  horses  they  couM  have  ridden  south  through  a 
rolling  country,  where  every  stretch  of  timber  gave 
on  a  grass-grown  level.  Instead  they  were  forced  back 
over  the  rugged  route  by  which  they  had  crossed  the 
range  the  summer  before.  Grub,  bedding,  furs,  and 
gold  totaled  two  hundred  pounds.  On  his  sturdy 
shoulders  Bill  could  pack  half  that  weight.  For  his 
wife  the  thing  was  a  physical  impossibility,  even  had 
he  permitted  her  to  try.  Hence  every  mile  advanced 
meant  that  he  doubled  the  distance,  relaying  from  one 
camp  to  the  next.  They  cut  their  bedding  to  a  blanket 
apiece,  and  that  was  Hazel's  load  —  all  he  would  al 
low  her  to  carry. 

"  You're  no  pack  mule,  little  person,"  he  would  say. 
"  It  don't  hurt  me.  I've  done  this  for  years." 

But  even  with  abnormal  strength  and  endurance,  it 
was  killing  work  to  buck  those  ragged  slopes  with  a 
heavy  load.  Only  by  terrible,  unremitting  effort 
could  he  advance  any  appreciable  distance.  From  day 
break  till  noon  they  would  climb  and  rest  alternately. 


THE    STRESS    OF   THE   TRAIL       235 

Then,  after  a  meal  and  a  short  breathing  spell,  he 
would  go  back  alone  after  the  second  load.  They  were 
footsore,  and  their  bodies  ached  with  weariness  that 
verged  on  pain  when  they  gained  the  pass  that  cut  the 
summit  of  the  Klappan  Range. 

"  Well,  we're  over  the  hump,"  Bill  remarked  thank 
fully.  "  It's  a  downhill  shoot  to  the  Skeena.  I  don't 
think  it's  more  than  fifty  or  sixty  miles  to  where  we 
can  take  to  the  water." 

They  made  better  time  on  the  western  slope,  but  the 
journey  became  a  matter  of  sheer  endurance.  Sum 
mer  was  on  them  in  full  blaze.  The  creeks  ran  full  and 
strong.  Thunderstorms  blew  up  out  of  a  clear  sky  to 
deluge  them.  Food  was  scanty  —  flour  and  salt  and 
tea ;  with  meat  and  fish  got  by  the  way.  And  the  black 
flies  and  mosquitoes  swarmed  about  them  maddeningly 
day  and  night. 

So  they  came  at  last  to  the  Skeena,  and  Hazel's 
heart  misgave  her  when  she  took  note  of  its  swirling 
reaches,  the  sinuous  eddies  —  a  deep,  swift,  treacherous 
stream.  But  Bill  rested  overnight,  and  in  the  morn 
ing  sought  and  felled  a  sizable  cedar,  and  began  to  hew. 
Slowly  the  thick  trunk  shaped  itself  to  the  form  of  a 
boat  under  the  steady  swing  of  his  ax.  Hazel  had  seen 
the  type  in  use  among  the  coast  Siwashes,  twenty-five 
feet  in  length,  narrow-beamed,  the  sides  cut  to  a  half 
inch  in  thickness,  the  bottom  left  heavier  to  withstand 
scraping  over  rock,  and  to  keep  it  on  an  even  keel.  A 
rude  and  tricky  craft,  but  one  wholly  efficient  in  ca 
pable  hands. 

In  a  week  it  was  finished.     They  loaded  the  sack  of 


236  NORTH    OF    FIFTY-THREE 

gold,  the  bundle  of  furs,  their  meager  camp  outfit  amid* 
ships,  and  swung  off  into  the  stream. 

The  Skeena  drops  fifteen  hundred  feet  in  a  hundred 
miles.  Wherefore  there  are  rapids,  boiling  stretches 
of  white  water  in  which  many  a  good  canoe  has  come 
to  grief.  Some  of  these  they  ran  at  imminent  peril. 
Over  the  worst  they  lined  the  canoe  from  the  bank. 
One  or  two  short  canons  they  portaged,  dragging  the 
heavy  dugout  through  the  brush  by  main  strength. 
Once  they  came  to  a  wall-sided  gorge  that  ran  away 
beyond  any  attempt  at  portage,  and  they  abandoned 
the  dugout,  to  build  another  at  the  lower  end.  But  be 
tween  these  natural  barriers  they  clicked  off  the  miles 
in  hot  haste,  such  was  the  swiftness  of  the  current. 
And  in  the  second  week  of  July  they  brought  up  at  the 
head  of  Kispiox  Canon.  Hazleton  lay  a  few  miles  be 
low.  But  the  Kispiox  stayed  them,  a  sluice  box  cut 
through  solid  stone,  in  which  the  waters  raged  with  a 
deafening  roar.  No  man  ventured  into  that  wild 
gorge.  They  abandoned  the  dugout.  Bill  slung  the 
sack  of  gold  and  the  bale  of  furs  on  his  back. 

"It's  the  last  lap,  Hazel,"  said  he.  "We'll  leave 
the  rest  of  it  for  the  first  Siwash  that  happens  along." 

So  they  set  out  bravely  to  trudge  the  remaining  dis 
tance.  And  as  the  fortunes  of  the  trail  sometimes  be 
fall,  they  raised  an  Indian  camp  on  the  bank  of  the 
river  at  the  mouth  of  the  canon.  A  ten-dollar  bill 
made  them  possessors  of  another  canoe,  and  an  hour 
later  the  roofs  of  Hazleton  cropped  up  above  the  bank. 

"Oh,  Bill,"  Hazel  called  from  the  bow.  "Look! 
There's  the  same  old  steamer  tied  to  the  same  old  bank. 


THE    STRESS    OF    THE    TRAIL        237 

We've  been  gone  a  year,  and  yet  the  world  hasn't 
changed  a  mite.  I  wonder  if  Hazleton  has  taken  a  Rip 
van  Winkle  sleep  all  this  time  ?  " 

"  No  fear,"  he  smiled.  "  I  can  see  some  new  houses 
• —  quite  a  few,  in  fact.  And  look  —  by  Jiminy  I 
They're  working  on  the  grade.  That  railroad,  re 
member?  See  all  those  teams?  Maybe  I  ought  to 
have  taken  up  old  Hackaberry  on  that  town-lot  propo 
sition,  after  all." 

"  Fiddlesticks ! "  she  retorted,  with  fine  scorn  of 
Hazleton's  real-estate  possibilities.  "  You  could  buy 
the  whole  town  with  this." 

She  touched  the  sack  with  her  toe. 

"  Not  quite,"  Bill  returned  placidly.  "  I  wouldn't, 
anyway.  We'll  get  a  better  run  for  our  money  than 
that.  I  hope  old  Hack  didn't  forget  to  attend  to  that 
ranch  business  for  me." 

He  drove  the  canoe  alongside  a  float.  A  few  loungers 
viewed  them  with  frank  curiosity.  Bill  set  out  the 
treasure  sack  and  the  bale  of  furs,  and  tied  the  canoe. 

"  A  new  hotel,  by  Jove !  "  he  remarked,  when  upotf 
gaining  the  level  of  the  town  a  new  two-story  building 
blazoned  with  a  huge  sign  its  function  as  a  hostelry. 
"  Getting  quite  metropolitan  in  this  neck  of  the  woods. 
Say,  little  person,  do  you  think  you  can  relish  a  square 
meal?  Planked  steak  and  lobster  salad  —  huh?  I 
wonder  if  they  could  rustle  a  salad  in  this  man's  town? 
Say,  do  you  know  I'm  just  beginning  to  find  out  how 
hungry  I  am  for  the  flesh-pots.  What's  the  matter 
with  a  little  variety  ?  —  as  Lin  MacLean  said.  Aren't 
you,  hon?  * 


238  NORTH    OF    FIFTY-THREE 

She  was;  frankly  so.  For  long,  monotonous  months 
she  had  been  struggling  against  just  such  cravings, 
impossible  of  realization,  and  therefore  all  the  more 
tantalizing.  She  had  been  a  year  in  the  wilderness, 
and  the  wilderness  had  not  only  lost  its  glamour,  but 
nad  become  a  thing  to  flee  from.  Even  the  rude  motley 
of  Hazleton  was  a  welcome  change.  Here  at  least — • 
on  a  minor  scale,  to  be  sure  —  was  that  which  she 
craved,  and  to  which  she  had  been  accustomed  —  life, 
stir,  human  activity,  the  very  antithesis  of  the  lonely 
mountain  fastnesses.  She  bestowed  a  glad  pressure 
on  her  husband's  arm  as  they  walked  up  the  street, 
Bill  carrying  the  sack  of  gold  perched  carelessly  on 
one  shoulder. 

"  Say,  their  enterprise  has  gone  the  length  of  es 
tablishing  a  branch  bank  here,  I  see." 

He  called  her  attention  to  a  square-fronted  edifice, 
its  new-boarded  walls  as  yet  guiltless  of  paint,  except 
where  a  row  of  black  letters  set  forth  that  it  was  the 
Bank  of  British  North  America. 

"  That's  a  good  place  to  stow  this  bullion,"  he  re 
marked.  "  I  want  to  get  it  off  my  hands." 

So  to  the  bank  they  bent  their  steps.  A  solemn, 
horse-faced  Englishman  weighed  the  gold,  and  issued 
Bill  a  receipt,  expressing  a  polite  regret  that  lack  of 
facility  to  determine  its  fineness  prevented  him  from 
converting  it  into  cash. 

"  That  means  a  trip  to  Vancouver,"  Bill  remarked 
outside.  "  Well,  we  can  stand  that." 

From  the  bank  they  went  to  the  hotel,  registered, 
and  were  shown  to  a  room,  For  the  first  time  sincr  th^ 


THE    STRESS    OF    THE    TRAIL       239 

summit  of  the  Klappan  Range,  where  her  tiny  hand 
glass  had  suffered  disaster,  Hazel  was  permitted  a 
clear  view  of  herself  in  a  mirror. 

"  I'm  a  perfect  fright !  "  she  mourned. 

"  Huh !  "  Bill  grunted.  "  You're  all  right.  Look 
at  me," 

The  trail  had  dealt  hardly  with  both,  in  the  matter 
of  their  personal  appearance.  Tanned  to  an  abiding 
brown,  they  were,  and  Hazel's  one-time  smooth  face 
was  spotted  with  fly  bites  and  marked  with  certain 
scratches  suffered  in  the  brush  as  they  skirted  the  Kis- 
piox.  Her  hair  had  lost  its  sleek,  glossy  smoothness 
of  arrangement.  Her  hands  were  reddened  and  rough. 
But  chiefly  she  was  concerned  with  the  sad  state  of 
her  apparel.  She  had  come  a  matter  of  four  hundred 
miles  in  the  clothes  on  her  back  —  and  they  bore  ua- 
equivocal  evidence  of  the  journey. 

"  I'm  a  perfect  fright,"  she  repeated  pettishly.  w  I 
don't  wonder  that  people  lapse  into  semi-barbarism  in 
the  backwoods.  One's  manners,  morals,  clothing,  and 
complexion  all  suffer  from  too  close  contact  with  your 
beloved  North,  Bill." 

"  Thanks  1 "  he  returned  shortly.  "  I  suppose  I'm 
a  perfect  fright,  too.  Long  hair,  whiskers,  grimy, 
aalloused  hands,  and  all  the  rest  of  it.  A  shave  and  a 
hair  cut,  a  bath  and  a  new  suit  of  clothes  will  remedy 
that.  But  I'll  be  the  same  personality  in  every  es 
sential  quality  that  I  was  when  I  sweated  over  the 
Klappan  with  a  hundred  pounds  on  my  back." 

"  I  hope  so,"  she  retorted.  "  I  don't  require  tlie 
shave,  thank  goodness,  but  I  certainly  need  a 


240  NORTH    OF   FIFTY-THREE 

and  clothes.  I  wish  I  had  the  gray  suit  that's  probably 
getting  all  moldy  and  moth-eaten  at  the  Pine  River 
cabin.  I  wonder  if  I  can  get  anything  fit  to  wear 
here?  " 

"  Women  live  here,"  Bill  returned  quietly,  "  and  I 
suppose  the  stores  supply  'em  with  duds.  Unlimber 
that  bank  roll  of  yours,  and  do  some  shopping." 

She  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  bed,  regarding  her  reflec 
tion  in  the  mirror  with  extreme  disfavor.  Bill  fingered 
his  thick  stubble  of  a  beard  for  a  thoughtful  minute. 
Then  he  sat  down  beside  her. 

"Wha'g  a  mollah,  hon? "  he  wheedled.  "What 
makes  you  such  a  crosser  patch  all  at  once?  " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  she  answered  dolefully.  "  I'm 
tired  and  hungry,  and  I  look  a  fright  —  and  —  oh,  just 
everything." 

"  Tut,  tut ! "  he  remonstrated  good-naturedly. 
"  That's  just  mood  again.  We're  out  of  the  woods, 
literally  and  figuratively.  If  you're  hungry,  let's  go 
and  see  what  we  can  make  this  hotel  produce  in  the 
way  of  grub,  before  we  do  anything  else." 

"  I  wouldn't  go  into  their  dining-room  looking  like 
this  for  the  world,"  she  said  decisively.  "  I  didn't 
realize  how  dirty  and  shabby  I  was." 

"  All  right ;  you  go  shopping,  then,"  he  proposed. 
"  while  I  take  these  furs  up  to  old  Hack's  place  and 
turn  them  into  money.  Then  we'll  dress,  and  make 
this  hotel  feed  us  the  best  they've  got.  Cheer  up. 
Maybe  it  was  tough  on  you  to  slice  a  year  out  of  your 
life  and  leave  it  in  a  country  where  there's  nothing  but 
woods  and  eternal  silence  —  but  we've  got  around 


THE    STRESS    OF   THE   TRAIL       241 

twenty  thousand  dollars  to  show  for  it,  Hazel.  And 
one  can't  get  something  for  nothing.  There's  a  price 
mark  on  it  somewhere,  always.  We've  got  all  our 
lives  before  us,  little  person,  and  a  better  chance  for 
happiness  than  most  folks  have.  Don't  let  little  things 
throw  you  into  the  blues.  Be  my  good  little  pal  — 
and  see  if  you  can't  make  one  of  these  stores  dig  up  a 
white  waist  and  a  black  skirt,  like  you  had  on  the  first 
time  I  saw  you." 

He  kissed  her,  and  went  quickly  out.  And  after 
a  long  time  of  sober  staring  at  her  image  in  the  glass 
Hazel  shook  herself  impatiently. 

"  I'm  a  silly,  selfish,  incompetent  little  beast,"  she 
whispered.  "  Bill  ought  to  thump  me,  instead  of  be 
ing  kind.  I  can't  do  anything,  and  I  don't  know  much, 
and  I'm  a  scarecrow  for  looks  right  now.  And  I 
started  out  to  be  a  real  partner." 

She  wiped  an  errant  tear  away,  and  made  her  way 
to  a  store  —  a  new  place  sprung  up,  like  the  bank  and 
the  hotel,  with  the  growing  importance  of  the  town. 
The  stock  of  ready-made  clothing  drove  her  to  de 
spair.  It  seemed  that  what  women  resided  in  Hazle- 
ton  must  invariably  dress  in  Mother  Hubbard  gowns 
of  cheap  cotton  print  with  other  garments  to  match. 
But  eventually  they  found  for  her  undergarments  of  a 
sort,  a  waist  and  skirt,  and  a  comfortable  pair  of  shoes. 
Hats,  as  a  milliner  would  understand  the  term,  there 
were  none.  And  in  default  of  such  she  stuck  to  the 
gray  felt  sombrero  she  had  worn  into  the  Klappan  and 
out  again  —  which,  in  truth,  became  her  very  well, 
when  tilted  at  the  proper  angle  above  her  heavy  black 


242  NORTH    OF   FIFTY-THREE 

hair.  Then  she  went  back  to  the  hotel,  and  sought  a 
bathroom. 

Returning  from  this  she  found  Bill,  a  Bill  all  shaved 
and  shorn,  unloading  himself  of  sundry  packages  of 
new  attire. 

"  Aha,  everything  is  lovely,"  he  greeted  enthusiasti 
cally.  "  Old  Hack  jumped  at  the  pelts,  and  paid  a 
fat  price  for  the  lot.  Also  the  ranch  deal  has  gone 
through.  He's  a  prince,  old  Hack.  Sent  up  a  man 
and  had  it  surveyed  and  classified  and  the  deed  waiting 
for  me.  And  —  oh,  say,  here's  a  letter  for  you." 

"For  me?  Oh,  yes,"  as  she  looked  at  the  hand 
writing  and  postmark.  "  I  wrote  to  Loraine  Marsh 
when  we  were  going  north.  Good  heavens,  look  at  the 
date  —  it's  been  here  since  last  September !  " 

"  Hackaberry  knew  where  we  were,"  Bill  explained. 
"  Sometimes  in  camps  like  this  they  hold  mail  two  or 
three  years  for  men  that  have  gone  into  the  interior." 

She  put  aside  the  letter,  and  dressed  while  Bill  had 
his  bath.  Then,  with  the  smoke  and  grime  of  a  hard 
trail  obliterated,  and  with  decent  clothes  upon  them, 
they  sought  the  dining-room.  There,  while  they  waited 
to  be  served,  Hazel  read  Loraine  Marsh's  letter,  and 
passed  it  to  Bill  with  a  self-conscious  little  laugh. 

"  There's  an  invitation  there  we  might  accept,"  she 
said  casually. 

Bill  read.  There  were  certain  comments  upon  her 
marriage,  such  as  the  average  girl  might  be  expected 
to  address  to  her  chum  who  has  forsaken  spinsterhood, 
a  lot  of  chatty  mention  of  Granville  people  and  Gran- 
ville  happenings,  which  held  no  particular  interest  for 


THE    STRESS    OF   THE   TRAIL       2*3 

Bill  since  he  knew  neither  one  nor  the  other,  and  it 
ended  with  an  apparently  sincere  hope  that  Hazel  and 
her  husband  would  visit  Granville  soon  as  the  Marshes* 
guests. 

He  returned  the  letter  as  the  waitress  brought  their 
food. 

"  Wouldn't  it  be  nice  to  take  a  trip  home  ?  "  Hazel 
suggested  thoughtfully.  "  I'd  love  to." 

"  We  are  going  home,"  Bill  reminded  gently. 

"  Oh,  of  course,"  she  smiled.  "  But  I  mean  to 
Granville.  I'd  like  to  go  back  there  with  you  for  a 
while,  just  to  —  just  to  — 

"  To  show  'em,"  he  supplied  laconically. 

"Oh,  Bill!"  she  pouted. 

Nevertheless,  she  could  not  deny  that  there  was  a 
measure  of  truth  in  his  brief  remark.  She  did  want 
to  "  show  'em."  Bill's  vernacular  expressed  it  ex 
actly.  She  had  compassed  success  in  a  manner  that 
Granville  —  and  especially  that  portion  of  Gran 
ville  which  she  knew  and  which  knew  her  —  could 
appreciate  and  understand  and  envy  according  to  its 
individual  tendencies. 

She  looked  across  the  table  at  her  husband,  and 
thought  to  herself  with  proud  satisfaction  that  she  had 
done  well.  Viewed  from  any  angle  whatsoever,  Bill 
Wagstaff  stood  head  and  shoulders  above  all  the  men 
she  had  ever  known.  Big,  physically  and  mentally, 
clean-minded  and  capable  —  indubitably  she  had  cap 
tured  a  lion,  and,  though  she  might  have  denied 
stoutly  the  imputation,  she  wanted  Granville  to  see  her 
lion  and  hear  him  roar. 


244  NORTH    OF    FIFTY-THREE 

Whether  they  realize  the  fact  or  not,  to  the  average 
individual,  male  or  female,  reflected  glory  is  better 
than  none  at  all.  And  when  two  people  stand  in  the 
most  intimate  relation  to  each  other,  the  success  of 
one  lends  a  measure  of  its  luster  to  the  other.  Those 
who  had  been  so  readily  impressed  by  Andrew  Bush's 
device  to  singe  her  social  wings  with  the  flame  of  gossip 
had  long  since  learned  their  mistake.  She  had  the 
word  of  Loraine  Marsh  and  Jack  Barrow  that  they 
were  genuinely  sorry  for  having  been  carried  away  by 
appearances.  And  she  could  nail  her  colors  to  the 
mast  if  she  came  home  the  wife  of  a  man  like  Bill  Wag- 
staff,  who  could  wrest  a  fortune  from  the  wilderness  in 
a  briefer  span  of  time  than  it  took  most  men  to  make 
current  expenses.  Hazel  was  quite  too  human  to  re 
fuse  a  march  triumphal  if  it  came  her  way.  She  had 
left  Granville  in  bitterness  of  spirit,  and  some  of  that 
bitterness  required  balm. 

"  Still  thinking  Granville  ?  "  Bill  queried,  when  they 
had  finished  an  uncommonly  silent  meal. 

Hazel  flushed  slightly.  She  was,  and  momentarily 
she  felt  that  she  should  have  been  thinking  of  their 
little  nest  up  by  Pine  River  Pass  instead.  She  knew 
that  Bill  was  homing  to  the  cabin.  She  herself  re 
garded  it  with  affection,  but  of  a  different  degree  from 
his.  Her  mind  was  more  occupied  with  another,  more 
palpitating  circle  of  life  than  was  possible  at  the  cabin, 
much  as  she  appreciated  its  green  and  peaceful  beauty. 
The  sack  of  gold  lying  in  the  bank  had  somehow 
opened  up  far-flung  possibilities.  She  skipped  the  in 
terval  of  affairs  which  she  knew  must  be  attended  to, 


THE    STRESS    OF    THE    TRAIL       245 

and  betook  herself  and  Bill  to  Granville,  thence  to  the 
bigger,  older  cities,  where  money  shouted  in  the  voice 
of  command,  where  all  things  were  possible  to  those 
who  had  the  price. 

She  had  had  her  fill  of  the  wilderness  —  for  the  time 
being,  she  put  it.  It  loomed  behind  her  —  vast, 
bleak,  a  desolation  of  loneliness  from  which  she  must 
get  away.  She  knew  now,  beyond  peradventure,  that 
her  heart  had  brought  her  back  to  the  man  in  spite  of, 
rather  than  because  of,  his  environment.  And  secure 
in  the  knowledge  of  his  love  for  her  and  her  love  for 
him,  she  was  already  beginning  to  indulge  a  dream  of 
transplanting  him  permanently  to  kindlier  surround 
ings,  where  he  would  have  wider  scope  for  his  natural 
ability  and  she  less  isolation. 

But  she  was  beginning  to  know  this  husband  of  hers 
too  well  to  propose  anything  of  the  sort  abruptly.  Be 
hind  his  tenderness  and  patience  she  had  sometimes 
glimpsed  something  inflexible,  unyielding  as  the  wilder 
ness  he  loved.  So  she  merely  answered: 

"  In  a  way,  yes." 

"  Let's  go  outside  where  I  can  smoke  a  decent  cigar 
on  top  of  this  fairly  decent  meal,"  he  suggested. 
"  Then  we'll  figure  on  the  next  move.  I  think  about 
twenty-four  hours  in  Hazleton  will  do  me.  There's 
a  steamer  goes  down-river  to-morrow." 


CHAPTER  XXFtf 

NEIGHBORS 

Four  days  later  they  stood  on  the  deck  of  a  grimy 
little  steamer  breasting  the  outgoing  tide  that  surged 
through  the  First  Narrows.  Wooded  banks  on  either 
hand  spread  dusky  green  in  the  hot  August  sun.  On 
their  left  glinted  the  roofs  and  white  walls  of  Holly- 
burn,  dear  to  the  suburban  heart.  Presently  they 
swung  around  Brockton  Point,  and  Vancouver  spread 
its  peninsular  clutter  before  them.  Tugs  and  launches 
puffed  by,  about  their  harbor  traffic.  A  ferry  clustered 
black  with  people  hurried  across  the  inlet.  But  even 
above  the  harbor  noises,  across  the  intervening  distance 
they  could  hear  the  vibrant  hum  of  the  industrial  hive. 

"  Listen  to  it,"  said  Bill.  "  Like  surf  on  the  beaches. 
And,  like  the  surf,  it's  full  of  treacherous  undercur 
rents,  a  bad  thing  to  get  into  unless  you  can  swim 
strong  enough  to  keep  your  head  above  water." 

"  You're   a  thoroughgoing  pessimist,"  she  smiled. 

"  No,"  he  shook  his  head.  "  I  merely  know  that  it's 
a  hard  game  to  buck,  under  normal  conditions.  We're 
of  the  fortunate  few,  that's  all." 

"  You're  not  going  to  spoil  the  pleasure  that's 
within  your  reach  by  pondering  the  misfortunes  of 
those  who  are  less  lucky,  are  you?  "  she  inquired  curi 
ously. 


NEIGHBORS  247 

"  Not  much,"  he  drawled.  "  Besides,  that  isn't  my 
chief  objection  to  town.  I  simply  can't  endure  the 
noise  and  confusion  and  the  manifold  stinks,  and  the 
universal  city  attitude  —  which  is  to  gouge  the  other 
fellow  before  he  gouges  you.  Too  much  like  a  dog 
fighL  No,  I  haven't  any  mission  to  remedy  social  and 
economic  ills.  I'm  taking  the  egotistic  view  that  it 
doesn't  concern  me,  that  I'm  perfectly  justified  in  en 
joying  myself  in  my  own  way,  seeing  that  I'm  in  a 
position  to  do  so.  We're  going  to  take  our  fun  as  we 
find  it.  Just  the  same,"  he  finished  thoughtfully,  "  I'd 
as  soon  be  pulling  into  that  ranch  of  ours  on  the  hur 
ricane  deck  of  a  right  good  horse  as  approaching  Van 
couver's  water  front.  This  isn't  any  place  to  spend 
money  or  to  see  anything.  It's  a  big,  noisy,  over 
grown  village,  overrun  with  business  exploiters  and 
real-estate  sharks.  It'll  be  a  city  some  day.  At  pres 
ent  it's  still  in  the  shambling  stage  of  civic  youth." 

In  so  far  as  Hazel  had  observed  upon  her  former 
visit,  this,  if  a  trifle  sweeping,  was  in  the  main  correct. 
So  she  had  no  regrets  when  Bill  confined  their  stay  to 
the  time  necessary  to  turn  his  gold  into  a  bank  ac 
count,  and  allow  her  to  buy  a  trunkful,  more  or  less, 
of  pretty  clothes.  Then  they  bore  on  eastward  and 
halted  at  Ashcroft.  Bill  had  refused  to  commit  him 
self  positively  to  a  date  for  the  eastern  pilgrimage. 
He  wanted  to  see  the  cabin  again.  For  that  matter 
she  did,  too  —  so  that  their  sojourn  there  did  not  carry 
them  over  another  winter.  That  loomed  ahead  like  a 
vague  threat.  Those  weary  months  in  the  Klappan 
Range  had  filled  her  with  the  subtle  poison  of  discoD" 


248  NORTH    OF    FIFTY-THREE 

tent,  for  which  she  felt  that  new  scenes  and  new  faces 
would  prove  the  only  antidote. 

"  There's  a  wagon  road  to  Fort  George,"  he  told 
her.  "  We  could  go  in  there  by  the  B.  X.  steamers, 
but  I'm  afraid  we  couldn't  buy  an  outfit  to  go  on.  I 
guess  a  pack  outfit  from  the  end  of  the  stage  line  will 
be  about  right." 

From  Ashcroft  an  auto  stage  whirled  them  swiftly 
into  the  heart  of  the  Cariboo  country  —  to  Quesnelle, 
where  Bill  purchased  four  head  of  horses  in  an  aftei> 
noon,  packed,  saddled,  and  hit  the  trail  at  daylight  in 
the  morning. 

It  was  very  pleasant  to  loaf  along  a  passable  road 
mounted  on  a  light-footed  horse,  and  Hazel  enjoyed 
it  if  for  no  more  than  the  striking  contrast  to  that 
terrible  journey  in  and  out  of  the  Klappan.  Here 
were  no  heartbreaking  mountains  to  scale.  The 
scourge  of  flies  was  well-nigh  past.  They  took  the 
road  in  easy  stages,  well-provisioned,  sleeping  in  a  good 
bed  at  nights,  camping  as  the  spirit  moved  when  a  likely 
trout  stream  crossed  their  trail,  venison  and  grouse  all 
about  them  for  variety  of  diet  and  the  sport  of  hunting. 

So  they  fared  through  the  Telegraph  Range,  crossed 
the  Blackwater,  and  came  to  Fort  George  by  way  of  a 
ferry  over  the  Fraser. 

"  This  country  is  getting  civilized,"  Bill  observed 
that  evening.  "  They  tell  me  the  G.  T.  P.  has  steel 
laid  to  a  point  three  hundred  miles  east  of  here.  This 
bloomin'  road'll  be  done  in  another  year.  They're 
grading  all  along  the  line.  I  bought  that  hundred 
and  sixty  acres  on  pure  sentiment,  but  it  looks 


NEIGHBORS  24$ 

like    it    may    turn    out  a    profitable    business    trans 
action.     That  railroad  is  going  to  flood  this  country 
with  fanners,  and  settlement  means  a  network  of  rail 
roads  and  skyrocketing  ascension  of  land  values." 

The  vanguard  of  the  land  hungry  had  already  pene 
trated  to  Fort  George.  Up  and  down  the  Nachaco 
Valley,  and  bordering  upon  the  Fraser,  were  the  cabins 
of  the  preemptors.  The  roads  were  dotted  with  the 
teams  of  the  incoming.  A  sizable  town  had  sprung  up 
around  the  old  trading  post. 

"  They  come  like  bers  when  the  rush  starts,"  Bill 
remarked. 

Leaving  Fort  George  behind,  they  bore  across  coun 
try  toward  Pine  River.  Here  and  there  certain  land 
marks,  graven  deep  in  Hazel's  recollection,  uprose  to 
claim  her  attention.  And  one  evening  at  sunset  they 
rode  up  to  the  little  cabin,  all  forlorn  in  its  clearing. 

The  grass  waved  to  their  stirrups,  and  the  pigweed 
stood  rank  up  to  the  very  door. 

Inside,  a  gray  film  of  dust  had  accumulated  on  every 
thing,  and  the  rooms  were  oppressive  with  the  musty 
odors  that  gather  in  a  closed,  untenanted  house.  But 
apart  from  that  it  stood  as  they  had  left  it  thirteen 
months  before.  No  foot  had  crossed  the  threshold. 
The  pile  of  wood  and  kindling  lay  beside  the  fireplace 
as  Bill  had  placed  it  the  morning  they  left. 

" «  Be  it  ever  so  humble,' "  Bill  left  the  line  of  the 
old  song  unfinished,  but  his  tone  was  full  of  jubilation. 
Between  them  they  threw  wide  every  door  and  window. 
The  cool  evening  wind  filled  the  place  with  sweet,  pine- 
v  .nted  air.  Then  Bill  started  a  blaze  roaring  in  the 


250  NORTH    OF    FIFTY-THREE 

black-mouthed  fireplace  —  to  make  it  look  natural,  he 
said  —  and  went  out  to  hobble  his  horses  for  the  night. 

In  the  morning  they  began  to  unpack  their  house 
hold  goods.  Rugs  and  bearskins  found  each  its  ac 
customed  place  upon  the  floor.  His  books  went  back 
on  the  shelves.  With  magical  swiftness  the  cabin  re 
sumed  its  old-home  atmosphere.  And  that  night  Bill 
stretched  himself  on  the  grizzly  hide  before  the  fire 
place,  and  kept  his  nose  in  a  book  until  Hazel,  who 
was  in  no  humor  to  read,  fretted  herself  into  something 
approaching  a  temper. 

"  You're  about  as  sociable  as  a  clam,"  she  broke  into 
his  absorption  at  last. 

He  looked  up  in  surprise,  then  chucked  the  volume 
carelessly  aside,  and  twisted  himself  around  till  his 
head  rested  in  her  lap. 

"  Vot  iss  ? "  he  asked  cheerfully.  "  Lonesome  ? 
Bored  with  yourself?  Ain't  I  here?" 

"  Your  body  is,"  she  retorted.  "  But  your  spirit  is 
Communing  with  those  musty  old  philosophers." 

"  Oh,  be  good  —  go  thou  and  do  likewise,"  he 
Returned  impenitently.  "  I'm  tickled  to  death  to  be 
home.  And  I'm  fairly  book-starved.  It's  fierce  to  be 
deprived  of  even  a  newspaper  for  twelve  months.  I'll 
be  a  year  getting  caught  up.  Surely  you  don't  feel 
yourself  neglected  because  I  happen  to  have  my  nose 
stuck  in  a  book?  " 

"  Of  course  not ! "  she  denied  vigorously.  The 
childish  absurdity  of  her  attitude  struck  her  with  sud 
den  force.  "  Still,  I'd  like  you  to  talk  to  me  once  in  a 
while." 


NEIGHBORS  251 

** '  Of  shoes  and  ships  and  sealing  wax ;  of  cabbages 
and  kings,'  ':l  he  flung  at  her  mischievously.  "  I'll 
make  music ;  that's  better  than  mere  words." 

He  picked  up  his  mandolin  and  tuned  the  strings. 
Like  most  things  which  he  set  out  to  do,  Bill  had  mas 
tered  his  instrument,  and  could  coax  out  of  it  all  thef 
harmony  of  which  it  was  capable.  He  seemed  to  know 
music  better  than  many  who  pass  for  musicians.  But 
he  broke  off  in  the  midst  of  a  bar. 

"  Say,  we  could  get  a  piano  in  here  next  spring," 
he  said.  "  I  just  recollected  it.  We'll  do  it." 

Now,  this  was  something  that  she  had  many  a  time 
audibly  wished  for.  Yet  the  prospect  aroused  no  en 
thusiasm. 

"  That'll  be  nice,"  she  said  —  but  not  as  she  would 
have  said  it  a  year  earlier.  Bill's  eyes  narrowed  a 
trifle,  but  he  still  smiled.  And  suddenly  he  stepped 
around  behind  her  chair,  put  both  hands  under  her 
chin,  and  tilted  her  head  backward. 

"  Ah,  you're  plumb  sick  and  tired  to  death  of  every 
thing,  aren't  you?"  he  said  soberly.  "You're  been 
up  here  too  long.  You  sure  need  a  change.  I'll  have 
to  take  you  out  and  give  you  the  freedom  of  the  cities, 
let  you  dissipate  and  pink-tea,  and  rub  elbows  with  the 
mob  for  a  while.  Then  you'll  be  glad  to  drift  back  to 
this  woodsy  hiding-place  of  ours.  When  do  you  want 
to  start?" 

"Why,  Bill!"  she  protested. 

But  she  realized  in  a  flash  that  Bill  could  read  her 
better  than  she  could  read  herself.  Few  of  her  emo 
tions  could  remain  long  hidden  from  that  keenly  ob- 


252  NORTH    OF    FIFTY-THREE 

serving  and  mercilessly  logical  mind.  She  knew  that 
he  guessed  where  she  stood,  and  by  what  paths  she  had 
gotten  there.  Trust  him  to  know.  And  it  made  her 
very  tender  toward  him  that  he  was  so  quick  to  under 
stand.  Most  men  would  have  resented. 

"  I  want  to  stack  a  few  tons  of  hay,"  he  went  on, 
disregarding  her  exclamation.  "  I'll  need  it  in  the 
spring,  if  not  this  winter.  Soon  as  that's  done  we'll 
hit  the  high  spots.  We'll  take  three  or  four  thousand 
dollars,  and  while  it  lasts  we'll  be  a  couple  of  —  of 
high-class  tramps.  Huh?  Does  it  sound  good? " 

She  nodded  vigorously. 

"  High-class  tramps,"  she  repeated  musingly. 
"That  sounds  fine." 

"  Perk  up,  then,"  he  wheedled. 

"  Bill-boy,"  she  murmured,  "  you  mustn't  take  me 
too  seriously." 

"  I  took  you  for  better  or  for  worse,"  he  answered, 
with  a  kiss.  "  I  don't  want  it  to  turn  out  worse.  I 
want  you  to  be  contented  and  happy  here,  where  I've 
planned  to  make  our  home.  I  know  you  love  me  quite 
a  lot,  little  person.  Nature  fitted  us  in  a  good  many 
ways  to  be  mates.  But  you've  gone  through  a  pretty 
drastic  siege  of  isolation  in  this  rather  grim  country, 
and  I  guess  it  doesn't  seem  such  an  alluring  place  as  it 
did  at  first.  I  don't  want  you  to  nurse  that  feeling 
until  it  becomes  chronic.  Then  we  would  be  out  of 
tune,  and  it  would  be  good-by  happiness.  But  I  think 
I  know  the  cure  for  your  malady." 

That  was  his  final  word.  He  deliberately  switched 
the  conversation  into  other  channels. 


NEIGHBORS  253 

In  the  morning  he  began  his  hay  cutting.  About 
eleven  o'clock  he  threw  down  his  scythe  and  stalked  to 
the  house. 

"  Put  on  your  hat,  and  let's  go  investigate  a  mys 
tery,"  said  he.  "  I  heard  a  cow  bawl  in  the  woods  a 
minute  ago.  A  regular  barnyard  bellow." 

"A  cow  bawling?"  she  echoed.  "Sure?  What 
would  cattle  be  doing  away  up  here  ?  " 

"That's  what  I  want  to  know?"  Bill  laughed. 
"  I've  never  seen  a  cow  north  of  the  Frazer  —  not  this 
side  of  the  Rockies,  anyway." 

They  saddled  their  horses,  and  rode  out  in  the  di 
rection  from  whence  had  arisen  the  bovine  complaint. 
The  sound  was  not  repeated,  and  Hazel  had  begun  to 
chaff  Bill  about  a  too-vivid  imagination  when  within 
a  half  mile  of  the  clearing  he  pulled  his  horse  up  short 
in  the  middle  of  a  little  meadow. 

"Look!" 

The  track  of  a  broad- tired  wagon  had  freshly  crusheid 
the  thick  grass.  Bill  squinted  at  the  trail,  then  his 
gaze  swept  the  timber  beyond. 

"  Well ! " 

"  What  is  it,  Bill?  "  Hazel  asked. 

"  Somebody  has  been  cutting  timber  over  there,** 
he  enlightened.  "  I  can  see  the  fresh  ax  work.  Looks 
like  they'd  been  hauling  poles.  Let's  follow  this  track 
a  ways." 

The  tiny  meadow  was  fringed  on  the  north  by  a  grove 
of  poplars.  Beyond  that  lay  another  clear  space  of 
level  land,  perhaps  forty  acres  in  extent.  They  broke 
through  the  belt  of  poplars  —  and  pulled  up  again. 


254          NORTH   OF   FIFTY-THREE 

On  one  side  of  the  meadow  stood  a  cabin,  the  fresh- 
peeled  log  walls  glaring  yellow  in  the  sun,  and  lifting 
an  earth-covered  roof  to  the  autumn  sky.  Bill  whistled 
softly. 

"Ill  Be  hanged,"  he  uttered,  "if  there  isn't  the 
cow! " 

Along  the  west  side  of  the  meadow  ran  a  brown  streak 
of  sod,  and  down  one  side  of  this  a  man  guided  the 
handles  of  a  plow  drawn  by  the  strangest  yokemates 
Hazel's  eyes  had  seen  for  many  a  day. 

"  For  goodness'  sake !  "  she  exclaimed. 

"  That's  the  true  pioneer  spirit  for  you,"  Bill  spoke 
absently.  "  He  has  bucked  his  way  into  the  heart  of 
a  rirgin  country,  and  he's  breaking  sod  with  a  mule 
and  a  cow.  That's  adaptation  to  environment  with  a 
vengeance  —  and  grit." 

"  There's  a  woman,  too,  Bill.  And  see  —  she's  car 
rying  a  baby ! "  Hazel  pointed  excitedly.  "  Oh, 
Bill!" 

"  Let's  go  over."  He  stirred  up  his  horse.  "  What 
did  I  tell  you  about  folk  that  hanker  for  lots  of  elbow- 
room?  They're  coming." 

The  man  halted  his  strangely  assorted  team  to  watch 
them  come.  The  woman  stood  a  step  outside  the  door, 
a  baby  in  her  arms,  another  toddler  holding  fast  to 
her  skirt.  A  thick-bodied,  short,  square-shouldered 
man  was  this  newcomer,  with  a  round,  pleasant  face. 

"  Hello,  neighbor !  "  Bill  greeted. 

The  plowman  lifted  his  old  felt  hat  courteously.  His 
face  lit  up. 

"  Achl  "  said  he.     "  Neighbor.     Dot  iss  a  goot  vord 


NEIGHBORS  255 

in  diss  country  vere  dere  iss  no  neighbor.  But  I  am 
glat  to  meet  you.  Vill  you  come  do  der  house  und 
rest  a  v'ile?  " 

"  Sure !  "  Bill  responded.  "  But  we're  neighbors, 
all  right.  Did  you  notice  a  cabin  about  half  a  mile 
west  of  here  ?  That's  our  place  —  when  we're  at 
home." 

"  So  ?  "  The  word  escaped  with  the  peculiar  rising 
inflection  of  the  Teuton.  "  I  haf  saw  dot  cabin  ven 
ve  come  here.  But  I  dink  it  vass  abandon.  Und  I 
pick  dis  place  mitout  hope  off  a  neighbor.  Id  iss  goot 
lant.  Veil,  let  us  to  der  house  go.  Id  vill  rest  der 
mule  —  und  Gretchen,  der  cow.  Hah !  " 

He  rolled  a  blue  eye  on  his  incongruous  team,  and 
grinned  widely. 

"  Come,"  he  invited ;  "  mine  vif e  vill  be  glat." 

They  found  her  a  matron  of  thirty-odd;  fresh- 
cheeked,  round-faced  like  her  husband,  typically  Ger 
man,  without  his  accent  of  the  Fatherland.  Hazel 
at  once  appropriated  the  baby.  It  lay  peacefully  in 
her  arms,  staring  wide-eyed,  making  soft,  gurgly 
sounds. 

"  The  little  dear ! "  Hazel  murmured. 

"  Lauer,  our  name  iss,"  the  man  said  casually,  when 
they  were  seated. 

"  WagstafF,  mine  is,"  Bill  completed  the  informal  in 
troduction. 

"  So  ? "  Lauer  responded.  **  Id  hass  a  German 
sount,  dot  name,  yes." 

"  Four  or  five  generations  back,"  Bill  answered.  *  1 
guess  I'm  as  American  as  they  make  'em." 


256  NORTH    OF   FIFTY-THREE 

"  I  am  from  Bavaria,"  Lauer  told  him.  "  Vill  you 
shmoke?  I  light  mine  bibe  —  mit  your  vife's  permis 
sion. 

"  Yes,"  he  continued,  stuffing  the  bowl  of  his  pipe 
with  a  stubby  forefinger,  "  I  am  from  Bavaria.  Dere 
I  vass  upon  a  farm  brought  oop.  I  serf  in  der  army 
my  dime.  Den  Ameriga.  Dere  I  marry  my  vife,  who 
is  born  in  Milvaukee.  I  vork  in  der  big  brreweries. 
Afder  dot  I  learn  to  be  a  carpenter.  Now  I  am  a 
kink,  mit  a  castle  all  mine  own.  I  am  no  more  a  vage 
slafe." 

He  laughed  at  his  own  conceit,  a  great,  roaring  bel 
low  that  filled  the  room. 

"  You're  on  the  right  track,"  Bill  nodded.  "  It's  a 
pity  more  people  don't  take  the  same  notion*  What 
do  you  think  of  this  country,  anyway  ?  " 

"  It  iss  goot,"  Lauer  answered  briefly,  and  with  un 
hesitating  certainty.  "  It  iss  goot.  Vor  der  boor 
man  it  iss  —  it  iss  salfation.  Mit  fife  huntret  tollars 
und  hiss  two  hants  he  can  himself  a  home  make  —  und 
a  lifing  be  sure  off." 

Beside  Hazel  Lauer's  wife  absently  caressed  the  blond 
head  of  her  four-year-old  daughter. 

"  No,  I  don't  think  I'll  ever  get  lonesome,"  she  said. 
*  I'm  too  glad  to  be  here.  And  I've  got  lots  of  work 
and  my  babies.  Of  course,  it's  natural  I'd  miss  a 
woman  friend  running  in  now  and  then  to  chat.  But  a 
person  can't  have  it  all.  And  I'd  do  anything  to  have 
a  roof  of  our  own,  and  to  have  it  some  place  where  our 
livin'  don't  depend  on  a  pay  envelope.  Oh,  a  city's 
dreadful,  I  think,  when  your  next  meal  almost  depends 


NEIGHBORS  257 

on  your  man  holdin'  his  job.  I've  lived  in  town  ever 
since  I  was  fifteen.  I  lost  three  babies  in  Milwaukee 
—  hot  weather,  bad  air,  bad  milk,  bad  everything,  un 
less  you  have  plenty  of  money.  Many  a  time  I've  sat 
and  cried,  just  from  thinkin'  how  bad  I  wanted  a  little 
place  of  our  own,  where  there  was  grass  and  trees  and 
a  piece  of  ground  for  a  garden.  And  I  knew  we'd 
never  be  able  to  buy  it.  We  couldn't  get  ahead 
enough." 

"  Und  so,"  her  husband  took  up  the  tale,  M  I  hear 
off  diss  country,  vere  lant  can  be  for  noddings  got. 
Und  so  we  scrape  und  pinch  und  safe  nickels  und  dimes 
for  fife  year.  Und  here  ve  are.  All  der  vay  from  Vis- 
consin  in  der  vaigon,  yes.  Mit  two  mules.  In  Ash- 
croft  I  buy  der  cow,  so  dot  ve  haf  der  fresh  milk.  Und 
dot  iss  lucky.  For  von  mule  iss  die  on  der  road.  So 
I  am  plow  oop  der  lant  und  haul  my  vaigon  mit  von 
mule  und  Gretchen,  der  cow." 

Hazel  had  a  momentary  vision  of  unrelated  hard 
ships  by  the  way,  and  she  wondered  how  the  man  could 
laugh  and  his  wife  smile  over  it.  She  knew  the  stifling 
heat  of  narrow  streets  in  mid-summer,  and  the  hungry 
longing  for  cool,  green  shade.  She  had  seen  something 
of  a  city's  poverty.  But  she  knew  also  the  privations 
of  the  trail.  Two  thousand  miles  in  a  wagon!  And 
at  the  journey's  end  only  a  rude  cabin  of  logs  —  and 
years  of  steady  toil.  Isolation  in  a  huge  and  lonely 
land.  Yet  these  folk  were  happy.  She  wondered 
briefly  if  her  own  viewpoint  were  possibly  askew.  She 
knew  that  she  could  not  face  such  a  prospect  except  in 
utter  rebellion.  Not  now.  The  bleak  peaks  of  the 


258  NORTH    OF    FIFTY-THREE 

Klappan  rose  up  before  her  mind's  eye,  the  picture  of 
five  horses  dead  in  the  snow,  the  wolves  that  snapped 
and  snarled  over  their  bones.  She  shuddered.  She 
was  still  pondering  this  when  she  and  Bill  dismounted 
at  home. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

THE    DOLLAE    CHASEES 

Granville  took  them  to  its  bosom  with  a  haste  and 
earnestness  that  made  Hazel  catch  her  breath.  The 
Marshes  took  possession  of  them  upon  their  arrival, 
and  they  were  no  more  than  domiciled  under  the  Marsh 
roof  than  all  her  old  friends  flocked  to  call.  Tactfully 
none  so  much  as  mentioned  Andrew  Bush,  nor  the  five- 
thousand-dollar  legacy  —  the  disposition  of  which  sum 
still  perplexed  that  defunct  gentleman's  worthy  execu 
tors.  And  once  more  in  a  genial  atmosphere  Hazel 
concluded  to  let  sleeping  dogs  lie.  Many  a  time  in  the 
past  two  years  she  had  looked  forward  to  cutting  them 
all  as  dead  as  they  had  cut  her  during  that  unfortu 
nate  period.  But  once  among  them,  and  finding  them 
willing,  nay,  anxious,  to  forget  that  they  had  ever 
harbored  unjust  thoughts  of  her,  she  took  their  prof 
fered  friendship  at  its  face  value.  It  was  quite  grati 
fying  to  know  that  many  of  them  envied  her.  She 
learned  from  various  sources  that  Bill's  fortune  loomed 
big,  had  grown  by  some  mysterious  process  of  Gran 
ville  tattle,  until  it  had  reached  the  charmed  six  figures 
of  convention. 

That  in  itself  was  sufficient  to  establish  their  pres 
tige.  In  a  society  that  lived  by  and  for  the  dollar,  and 
measured  most  things  with  its  dollar  yardstick,  that 


a6o  NORTH    OF   FIFTY-THREE 

murmured  item  opened  —  indeed,  forced  open  —  many 
doors  to  herself  and  her  husband  which  would  otherwise 
have  remained  rigid  on  their  fastenings.  It  was  pleas 
ant  to  be  sought  out  and  made  much  of,  and  it  pleased 
her  to  think  that  some  of  her  quondam  friends  were 
genuinely  sorry  that  they  had  once  stood  aloof.  They 
attempted  to  atone,  it  would  seem.  For  three  weeks 
they  lived  in  an  atmosphere  of  teas  and  dinners  and 
theater  parties,  a  giddy  little  whirl  that  grew  daily 
more  attractive,  so  far  as  Hazel  was  concerned. 

There  had  been  changes.  Jack  Barrow  had  con 
soled  himself  with  a  bride.  Moreover,  he  was  making 
good,  in  the  popular  phrase,  at  the  real-estate  game. 
The  Marshes,  as  she  had  previously  known  them,  had 
been  tottering  on  the  edge  of  shabby  gentility.  But 
they  had  come  into  money.  And  as  Bill  slangily  put  it, 
they  were  using  tkeir  pile  to  cut  a  lot  of  social  ice. 
Kitty  Brooks'  husband  was  now  the  head  of  the  biggest 
advertising  agency  in  Granville.  Hazel  was  glad  of 
that  mild  success.  Kitty  Brooks  was  the  one  person 
for  whom  she  had  always  kept  a  warm  corner  in  her 
heart.  Kitty  had  stood  stoutly  and  unequivocally  by 
her  when  all  the  others  had  viewed  her  with  a  dubious 
eye.  Aside  from  these  there  were  scores  of  young  peo 
ple  who  revolved  in  their  same  old  orbits.  Two  years 
will  upon  occasion  make  profound  changes  in  some  lives, 
and  leave  others  untouched.  But  change  or  no  change, 
she  found  herself  caught  up  and  carried  along  on  a 
pleasant  tide. 

She  was  inordinately  proud  of  Bill,  when  she  com 
pared  him  with  the  average  Granville  male  —  yet  she 


THE    DOLLAR   CHASERS  261 

found  herself  wishing  he  would  adopt  a  little  more 
readily  the  Granville  viewpoint.  He  fell  short  of  it, 
or  went  beyond  it,  she  could  not  be  sure  which ;  she  had 
an  uneasy  feeling  sometimes  that  he  looked  upon  Gran 
ville  doings  and  Granville  folk  with  amused  tolerance, 
not  unmixed  with  contempt.  But  he  attracted  atten 
tion.  Whenever  he  was  minded  to  talk  he  found  ready 
listeners.  And  he  did  not  seem  to  mind  being  dragged 
to  various  functions,  matinees,  and  the  like.  He  fell 
naturally  into  that  mode  of  existence,  no  matter  that 
it  was  in  profound  contrast  to  his  previous  manner  of 
life,  as  she  knew  it.  She  felt  a  huge  satisfaction  in 
that.  Anything  but  a  well-bred  man  would  have  re 
pelled  her,  and  she  had  recognized  that  quality  in  Bill 
Wagstaff  even  when  he  had  carried  her  bodily  into  the 
wilderness  against  her  explicit  desire  that  memorable 
time.  And  he  was  now  exhibiting  an  unsuspected 
polish.  She  used  to  wonder  amusedly  if  he  were  pos 
sibly  the  same  Roaring  Bill  whom  she  had  with  her 
eyes  seen  hammer  a  man  insensible  with  his  fists,  who 
had  kept  "  tough "  frontiersmen  warily  side-stepping 
him  in  Cariboo  Meadows.  Certainly  he  was  a  many- 
sided  individual. 

Once  or  twice  she  conjured  u/  a  vision  of  his  get 
ting  into  some  business  there,  and  utterly  foregoing 
<the  North  —  which  for  her  wa/;  already  beginning  to 
take  on  the  aspect  of  a  bleak  ani  cheerless  region  where 
there  was  none  of  the  things  which  daily  whetted  her 
appetite  for  luxury,  nothing  but  hardships  innumer 
able  —  and  gold.  The  gold  had  been  their  reward  — 
a  reward  well  earned,  she  thought.  Still  —  they  had 


262  NORTH    OF   FIFTY-THREE 

been  wonderfully  happy  there  at  the  Pine  River  cabin^ 
she   remembered. 

They  came  home  from  a  theater  party  late  one  night. 
Bill  sat  down  by  their  bedroom  window,  and  stared  out 
at  the  street  lights,  twin  rows  of  yellow  beads  stretch 
ing  away  to  a  vanishing  point  in  the  pitch-black  of  a 
cloudy  night.  Hazel  kicked  off  her  slippers,  and  grate 
fully  toasted  her  silk-stockinged  feet  at  a  small  coal 
grate.  Fall  had  come,  and  there  was  a  sharp  nip  to 
the  air. 

"Well,  what  do  you  think  of  it  as  far  as  you've 
gone  ?  "  he  asked  abruptly. 

"Of  what?"  she  asked,  jarred  out  of  meditation 
upon  the  play  they  had  just  witnessed. 

"  All  this."  He  waved  a  hand  comprehensively. 
"  This  giddy  swim  we've  got  into." 

"  I  think  it's  fine,"  she  candidly  admitted.  "  I'm 
enjoying  myself.  I  like  it.  Don't  you?" 

"  As  a  diversion,"  he  observed  thoughtfully,  "  I 
don't  mind  it.  These  people  are  all  very  affable  and 
pleasant,  and  they've  rather  gone  out  of  their  way  to 
entertain  us.  But,  after  all,  what  the  dickens  does 
it  amount  to?  They  spend  their  whole  life  running 
in  useless  circles.  I  should  think  they'd  get  sick  of 
It.  You  will." 

"  Hardly,  Billum,"  she  smiled.  "  We're  merely 
making  up  for  two  years  of  isolation.  I  think  we  must 
be  remarkable  people  that  we  didn't  fight  like  cats  and 
dogs.  For  eighteen  months,  you  know,  there  wasn't 
a  soul  to  talk  to,  and  not  much  to  think  about  except 
what  you  could  do  if  you  were  some  place  else." 


THE    DOLLAR    CHASERS  263 

"  You're  acquiring  the  atmosphere,"  he  remarked  — * 
sardonically,  she  thought. 

"No;  just  enjoying  myself,"  she  replied  lightly. 

"  Well,  if  you  really  are,"  he  answered  slowly,  "  we 
may  as  well  settle  here  for  the  winter  —  and  get  settled 
r right  away.  I'm  rather  weary  of  being  a  guest  in 
another  man's  house,  to  tell  you  the  truth." 

"  Why,  Fd  love  to  stay  here  all  winter,"  she  said. 
'*  But  I  thought  you  intended  to  knock  around  more 
or  less." 

"  But  don't  you  see,  you  don't  particularly  care  to," 
he  pointed  out ;  "  and  it  would  spoil  the  fun  of  going 
any  place  for  me  if  you  were  not  interested.  And 
when  it  comes  to  a  show-down  I'm  not  aching  to  be  a 
bird  of  passage.  One  city  is  pretty  much  like  another 
to  me.  You  seem  to  have  acquired  a  fairly  select  circle 
of  friends  and  acquaintances,  and  you  may  as  well 
have  your  fling  right  here.  We'll  take  a  run  over  to 
New  York.  I  want  to  get  some  books  and  things. 
Then  we'll  come  back  here  and  get  a  house  or  a  flat. 
I  tell  you  right  now,"  he  laughed  not  unpleasantly, 
"  I'm  going  to  renig  on  this  society  game.  You  can 
play  it  as  hard  as  you  like,  until  spring.  I'll  be  there 
with  bells  on  when  it  comes  to  a  dance.  And  I'll  go  to 
a  show  —  when  a  good  play  comes  along.  But  I  won't 
mix  up  with  a  lot  of  silly  women  and  equally  silly  she- 
men,  any  more  than  is  absolutely  necessary." 

"  Why,  Bill !  "  she  exclaimed,  aghast. 

"Well,  ain't  it  so?"  he  defended  lazily.  "There's 
Kitty  Brooks  —  she  has  certainly  got  intelligence  above 
the  average.  That  Lorimer  girl  has  brains  superim- 


264  NORTH    OF    FIFTY-THREE 

posed  on  her  artistic  temperament,  and  she  uses  'em  to 
advantage.  Practically  aii  the  rest  that  I've  met  are 
intellectual  nonentities  —  strong  on  looks  and  clothes 
and  amusing  themselves,  and  that  lets  them  out.  And 
they  have  no  excuse,  because  they've  had  unlimited 
advantages.  The  men  divide  themselves  into  two 
types.  One  that  chases  the  dollar,  talks  business,, 
thinks  business,  knows  nothing  outside  of  business,  and 
their  own  special  line  of  business  at  that;  the  other 
type,  like  these  Arthur  fellows,  and  Dave  Allan  and 
T.  Fordham  Brown,  who  go  in  for  afternoon  teas  and 
such  gentlemanly  pastimes,  and  whose  most  strenuous 
exercise  is  a  game  of  billiards.  Shucks,  there  isn't  a 
real  man  in  the  lot.  Maybe  I'll  run  across  some  peo 
ple  who  don't  take  a  two-by-four  view  of  life  if  I  stay 
around  here  long  enough,  but  it  hasn't  happened  to 
me  yet.  I  hope  I'm  not  an  intellectual  snob,  little  per 
son,  any  more  than  I'm  puffed  up  over  happening  to 
be  a  little  bigger  and  stronger  than  the  average  man, 
but  I  must  say  that  the  habitual  conversation  of  these 
people  gives  me  a  pain.  That  platitudinous  discus 
sion  of  the  play  to-night,  for  instance." 

"  That  was  droll."  Hazel  chuckled  at  the  recollec 
tion,  and  she  recalled  the  weary  look  that  had  once  or 
twice  flitted  over  Bill's  face  during  that  after-theater 
supper. 

But  she  herself  could  see  only  the  humor  of  it.  She 
was  fascinated  by  the  social  niceties  and  the  surround 
ings  of  the  set  she  had  drifted  into.  The  little  dinners, 
the  impromptu  teas,  the  light  chatter  and  general  at 
mosphere  of  luxury  more  than  counterbalanced  any 


THE    DOLLAR    CHASERS  265 

other  lack.  She  wanted  only  to  play,  and  she  was  pre 
pared  to  seize  avidly  on  any  form  of  pleasure,  no  matter 
if  in  last  analysis  it  were  utterly  frivolous.  She  could 
smile  at  the  mental  vacuity  she  encountered,  and  think 
nothing  of  it,  if  with  that  vacuity  went  those  material 
factors  which  made  for  ease  and  entertainment.  The 
physical  side  of  her  was  all  alert.  Luxury  and  the 
mild  excitements  of  a  social  life  that  took  nothing  seri 
ously,  those  were  the  things  she  craved.  For  a  long 
time  she  had  been  totally  deprived  of  them.  Nor  had 
such  unlimited  opportunities  ever  before  been  in  her 
grasp. 

"  Yes,  that  was  droll,"  she  repeated. 

Bill  snorted. 

"  Droll  ?  Perhaps,"  he  said.  "  Blatant  ignorance, 
coupled  with  a  desire  to  appear  the  possessor  of  cul 
ture,  is  sometimes  amusing.  But  as  a  general  thing 
it  simply  irritates." 

"  You're  hard  to  please,"  she  replied.  "  Can't  you 
enjoy  yourself,  take  things  as  they  come,  without  be 
ing  so  critical?  " 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  remained  silent. 

"  Well,"  he  said  presently,  "  we'll  take  that  jaunt 
to  New  York  day  after  to-morrow." 

He  was  still  sitting  by  the  window  when  Hazel  was 
ready  to  go  to  bed.  She  came  back  into  the  room  in  a 
trailing  silk  kimono,  and,  stealing  softly  up  behind  him, 
put  both  hands  on  his  shoulders. 

"  What  are  you  thinking  so  hard  about,  Billy-boy?  " 
she  whispered. 

"  I  was  thinking  about  Jake  Lauer,  and  wondering 


266          NORTH    OF   FIFTY-THREE 

how  he  was  making  it  go,"  Bill  answered.  "  I  was  also 
picturing  to  myself  how  some  of  these  worthy  citizens 
would  mess  things  up  if  they  had  to  follow  in  his  steps. 
Hang  it,  I  don't  know  but  we'd  be  better  off  if  we  were 
pegging  away  for  a  foothold  somewhere,  like  old  Jake." 

"  If  we  had  to  do  that,"  she  argued,  "  I  suppose  we 
would,  and  manage  to  get  along.  But  since  we  don't 
have  to,  why  wish  for  it?  Money  makes  things  pleas- 
anter." 

"  If  money  meant  that  we  would  be  compelled  to  lead 
the  sort  of  existence  most  of  these  people  do,"  he  re 
torted,  "  I'd  take  measures  to  be  broke  as  soon  as  pos 
sible.  What  the  deuce  is  there  to  it?  The  women  get 
up  in  the  morning,  spend  the  forenoon  fixing  themselves 
up  to  take  in  some  innocuous  gabblefest  after  luncheon. 
Then  they  get  into  their  war  paint  for  dinner,  and  after 
dinner  rush  madly  off  to  some  other  festive  stunt. 
Swell  rags  and  a  giddy  round.  If  it  were  just  fun,  it 
would  be  all  right.  But  it's  the  serious  business  of 
life  with  them.  And  the  men  are  in  the  same  boat. 
All  of  'em  collectively  don't  amount  to  a  pinch  of 
snuff.  This  thing  that  they  call  business  is  mostly 
gambling  with  what  somebody  else  has  sweated  to  pro 
duce.  They're  a  soft-handed,  soft-bodied  lot  of  in-, 
competent  egotists,  if  you  ask  me.  Any  of  'em  would 
lick  your  boots  in  a  genteel  sort  of  way  if  there  was 
money  in  it;  and  they'd  just  as  cheerfully  chisel  their 
best  friend  out  of  his  last  dollar,  if  it  could  be  done  in 
a  business  way.  They  haven't  even  the  saving  grace 
of  physical  hardihood." 

"You're  awful!"  Hazel  commented. 


THE    DOLLAR   CHASERS  267 

Bill  snorted  again. 

"  To-morrow,  you  advise  our  hostess  that  we're 
traveling,"  he  instructed.  "  When  we  come  back  we'll 
make  headquarters  at  a  hotel  until  we  locate  a  place 
of  our  own  —  if  you  are  sure  you  want  to  winter  here." 

Her  mind  was  quite  made  up  to  spend  the  winter 
there,  and  she  frankly  said  so  —  provided  he  had  no 
other  choice.  They  had  to  winter  somewhere.  They 
had  set  out  to  spend  a  few  months  in  pleasant  idleness. 
They  could  well  afford  that.  And,  unless  he  had  other 
plans  definitely  formed,  was  not  Granville  as  good  as 
any  place?  Was  it  not  better,  seeing  that  they  did 
know  some  one  there?  It  was  big  enough  to  afford 
practically  all  the  advantages  of  any  city. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  suppose  so.  All  right ;  we'll  winter 
here,"  Bill  acquiesced.  "  That's  settled." 

And,  as  was  his  habit  when  he  had  come  to  a  similar 
conclusion,  he  refused  to  talk  further  on  that  subject, 
but  fell  to  speculating  idly  on  New  York.  In  which 
he  was  presently  aided  and  abetted  by  Hazel,  who  had 
never  invaded  Manhattan,  nor,  for  that  matter,  any  of 
the  big  Atlantic  cities.  She  had  grown  up  in  Gran 
ville,  with  but  brief  journeys  to  near-by  points.  And 
Granville  could  scarcely  be  classed  as  a  metropolis. 
It  numbered  a  trifle  over  three  hundred  thousand  souls. 
Bill  had  termed  it  "  provincial."  But  it  meant  more 
to  her  than  any  other  place  in  the  East,  by  virtue  of  old 
associations  and  more  recent  acquaintance.  One  must 
have  a  pivotal  point  of  such  a  sort,  just  as  one  cannot 
forego  the  possession  of  a  nationality. 

New  York,    she  was   constrained   to    admit,   rather 


268          NORTH   OF   FIFTY-THREE 

overwhelmed  her.  She  traversed  Broadway  and  othe? 
world-known  arteries,  and  felt  a  trifle  dubious  amid  the 
unceasing  crush.  Bill  piloted  her  to  famous  cafes, 
and  to  equally  famous  theaters.  She  made  sundry  pur 
chases  in  magnificent  shops.  The  huge  conglomera 
tion  of  sights  and  sounds  made  an  unforgettable  im« 
pression  upon  her.  She  sensed  keenly  the  colossal  mag 
nitude  of  it  all.  But  she  felt  a  distinct  wave  of  relief 
when  they  were  Granville  bound  once  more. 

In  a  week  they  were  settled  comfortably  in  a  domi 
cile  of  their  own  —  five  rooms  in  an  up-to-date  apart 
ment  house.  And  since  the  social  demands  on  Mrs. 
William  Wag-staff's  time  grew  apace,  a  capable  maid 
and  a  cook  were  added  to  the  Wagstaff  establishment. 
Thus  she  was  relieved  of  the  onus  of  housework.  Her 
time  was  wholly  her  own,  at  her  own  disposal  or  Bill's, 
as  she  elected. 

But  by  imperceptible  degrees  they  came  to  take 
diverse  roads  in  the  swirl  of  life  which  had  caught 
them  up.  There  were  so  many  little  woman  affairs 
where  a  man  was  superfluous.  There  were  others  which 
Bill  flatly  refused  to  attend.  "  Hen  parties,"  he 
dubbed  them.  More  and  more  he  remained  at  home 
•with  his  books.  Invariably  he  read  through  the  day 
time,  and  unless  to  take  Hazel  for  a  walk  or  a  drive, 
or  some  simple  pleasure  which  they  could  indulge  in 
by  themselves,  he  would  not  budge.  If  it  were  night, 
and  a  dance  was  to  the  fore,  he  would  dress  and  go 
gladly.  At  such,  and  upon  certain  occasions  when  a 
certain  little  group  would  take  supper  at  some  cafe, 
he  was  apparently  in  his  element.  But  there  was  al- 


THE    DOLLAR   CHASERS  269 

ways  a  back  fire  if  Hazel  managed  to  persuade  him  to 
attend  anything  in  the  nature  of  a  formal  affair.  He 
drew  the  line  at  what  he  defined  as  social  tommyrot, 
and  he  drew  it  more  and  more  sharply. 

Sometimes  Hazel  caught  herself  wondering  if  they 
were  getting  as  much  out  of  the  holiday  as  they  should 
have  gotten,  as  they  had  planned  to  get  when  they  were 
struggling  through  that  interminable  winter.  She  was. 
But  not  Bill.  And  while  she  wished  that  he  could  get 
the  same  satisfaction  out  of  his  surroundings  and  op 
portunities  as  she  conceived  herself  to  be  getting,  she 
often  grew  impatient  with  his  sardonic,  tolerant  con 
tempt  toward  the  particular  set  she  mostly  consorted 
with.  If  she  ventured  to  give  a  tea,  he  fled  the  house 
as  if  from  the  plague.  He  made  acquaintances  of  his 
own,  men  from  God  only  knew  where,  individuals  who 
occasionally  filled  the  dainty  apartment  with  malodor 
ous  tobacco  fumes,  and  who  would  cheerfully  sit  up  all 
night  discoursing  earnestly  on  any  subject  under  the 
sun.  But  so  long  as  Bill  found  Granville  habitable 
she  did  not  mind. 

Above  all,  as  the  winter  and  the  winter  gayety  set  in 
together  with  equal  vigor,  she  thought  with  greater 
reluctance  of  the  ultimate  return  to  that  hushed,  deep- 
forested  area  that  surrounded  the  cabin. 

She  wished  fervently  that  Bill  would  take  up  some 
business  that  would  keep  him  in  touch  with  civilization. 
He  had  the  capital,  she  considered,  and  there  was  no 
question  of  his  ability.  Her  faith  in  his  power  to  en 
compass  whatever  he  set  about  was  strong.  Other  men, 
less  gifted,  had  acquired  wealth,  power,  even  a  measure 


270          NORTH   OF   FIFTY-THREE 

of  fame,  from  a  less  auspicious  beginning.     Why  noi 
he? 

It  seemed  absurd  to  bury  one's  self  in  an  uninhabited 
waste,  when  life  held  forth  so  much  to  be  grasped. 
Her  friends  told  her  so  —  thus  confirming  her  own 
judgment.  But  she  could  never  quite  bring  herself  to 
put  it  in  so  many  words  to  BilL 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

A    BUSINESS    PROPOSITION 

The  cycle  of  weeks  brought  them  to  January.  They 
had  dropped  into  something  of  a  routine  in  their  daily 
lives.  Bill's  interest  and  participation  in  social  affairs 
became  negligible.  Of  Hazel's  circle  he  classed  some 
half  viozen  people  as  desirable  acquaintances,  and  saw 
more  or  less  of  them  —  Kitty  Brooks  and  her  husband ; 
Vesta  Lorimer,  a  keen-witted  young  woman  upon  whom 
nature  had  bestowed  a  double  portion  of  physical  at 
tractiveness  and  a  talent  akin  to  genius  for  the  paint 
ing  of  miniatures ;  her  Brother  Paul,  who  was  the  silent 
partner  in  a  brokerage  firm ;  Doctor  Hart,  a  silent, 
grim-visaged  physician,  whose  vivacious  wife  was  one  of 
Hazel's  new  intimates.  Of  that  group  Bill  was  al 
ways  a  willing  member.  The  others  he  met  courteously 
when  he  was  compelled  to  meet  them;  otherwise  he 
passed  them  up  entirely. 

When  he  was  not  absorbed  in  a  book  or  magazine, 
he  spent  his  time  in  some  downtown  haunt,  having  ac 
quired  membership  in  a  club  as  a  concession  to  their 
manner  of  life.  Once  he  came  home  with  flushed  face 
and  overbnght  eyes,  radiating  an  odor  of  whisky. 
Hazel  had  never  seen  him  drink  to  excess.  She  was 
correspondingly  shocked,  and  took  no  pains  to  hide 
her  feelings.  But  Bill  was  blandly  undisturbed. 


272  NORTH    OF   FIFTY-THREE 

"  You  don't  need  to  look  so  horrified,"  he  drawled. 
"  I  won't  beat  you  up  nor  wreck  the  furniture.  Inad 
vertently  took  a  few  too  many,  that's  all.  Nothing 
else  L.o  do,  anyhow.  Your  friend  Brooks'  Carlton  Club 
is  a&  barren  a  place  as  one  of  your  tea  fights.  They 
don't  do  anything  much  but  sit  abound  and  drink 
Scotch  and  soda,  and  talk  about  the  market.  I'm 
drunk,  and  glad  of  it.  If  I  were  in  Cariboo  Meadows, 
now,"  he  confided  owlishly,  "  I'd  have  some  fun  with 
the  natives.  You  can't  turn  yourself  loose  here.  It's 
too  blame  civilized  and  proper.  I  had  half  a  notion 
to  lick  a  Johnnie  or  two,  just  for  sport,  and  then  I 
thought  probably  they'd  have  me  up  for  assault  and 
battery.  Just  recollected  our  social  reputation  —  long 
may  she  wave  —  in  time." 

'*  Your  reputation  certainly  won't  be  unblemished  if 
any  one  saw  you  come  in  in  that  condition,"  she  cried, 
in  angry  mortification.  "  Surely  you  could  find  some 
thing  better  to  do  than  to  get  drunk." 

"  I'm  going  straight  to  bed,  little  person,"  he  re 
turned.  "  Scold  not,  nor  fret.  William  will  be  him 
self  again  ere  yet  the  morrow's  sun  shall  clear  the 
horizon.  Let  us  avoid  recrimination.  The  tongue  is, 
or  would  seem  to  be,  the  most  vital  weapon  of  modern 
society.  Therefore  let  us  leave  the  trenchant  blade 
quiescent  in  its  scabbard.  I'd  rather  settle  a  dispute 
with  my  fists,  or  even  a  gun.  Good  night." 

He  made  his  unsteady  way  to  their  extra  bedroom, 
and  he  was  still  there  with  the  door  locked  when  Hazel 
returned  from  a  card  party  at  the  Krones'.  It  was  the 
first  night  they  had  spent  apart  since  their  marriage, 


A    BUSINESS    PROPOSITION          273 

i 

and  Hazel  was  inclined  to  be  huffed  when  he  looked  in 
before  breakfast,  dressed,  shaved,  and  smiling,  as  if  he 
had  never  had  even  a  bowing  acquaintance  with  John 
Barleycorn.  But  Bill  refused  to  take  her  indignation 
seriously,  and  it  died  for  lack  of  fuel. 

A  week  or  so  later  he  became  suddenly  and  unex 
pectedly  active.  He  left  the  house  as  soon  as  his  break-4 
fast  was  eaten,  and  he  did  not  come  home  to  luncheon 
—  a  circumstance  which  irritated  Hazel,  since  it  was 
one  of  those  rare  days  when  she  herself  lunched  at 
home.  Late  in  the  afternoon  he  telephoned  briefly  that 
he  would  dine  downtown.  And  when  he  did  return,  at 
nine  or  thereabouts  in  the  evening,  he  clamped  a  cigar 
between  his  teeth,  and  fell  to  work  covering  a  sheet 
of  paper  with  interminable  rows  of  figures. 

Hazel  had  worried  over  the  possibility  of  his  having 
had  another  tilt  with  the  Scotch  and  sodas.  He  re 
lieved  her  of  that  fear,  and  she  restrained  her  curiosity 
until  boredom  seized  her.  The  silence  and  the  scratch 
ing  of  his  pen  began  to  grate  on  her  nerves. 

"  What  is  all  the  clerical  work  about  ?  "  she  inquired. 
"  Reckoning  your  assets  and  liabilities  ?  " 

Bill  smiled  and  pushed  aside  the  paper. 

"  I'm  going  to  promote  a  mining  company,"  he  told 
her,  quite  casually.  "  It  has  been  put  up  to  me  as  a 
business  proposition  —  and  I've  got  to  the  stage  where 
I  have  to  do  something,  or  I'll  sure  have  the 
Willies." 

She  overlooked  the  latter  statement;  it  conveyed  no 
special  significance  at  the  time.  But  his  first  state 
ment  opened  up  possibilities  such  as  of  late  she  had 


274          NORTH   OF   FIFTY-THREE 

sincerely  hoped  would  come  to  pass,  and  she  was  all 
interest. 

"  Promote  a  mining  company? "  she  repeated* 
"  That  sounds  extremely  businesslike.  How  —  when 
—  where?  " 

"  Now  —  here  in  Granville,"  he  replied.  "  The  how 
is  largely  Paul  Lorimei^s  idea.  You  see,"  he  con 
tinued,  warming  up  a  bit  to  the  subject,  "  when  I  was 
prospecting  that  creek  where  we  made  the  clean-up 
last  summer,  I  ran  across  a  well-defined  quartz  lead. 
I  packed  out  a  few  samples  in  my  pockets,  and  I  hap 
pened  to  show  them  as  well  as  one  or  two  of  the  nuggets 
to  some  of  these  fellows  at  the  club  a  while  back.  Lor- 
imer  took  a  piece  of  the  quartz  and  had  it  assayed.  It 
looms  up  as  something  pretty  big.  So  he  and  Brooks 
and  a  couple  of  other  fellows  want  me  to  go  ahead  and 
organize  and  locate  a  group  of  claims  in  there.  Twenty 
or  thirty  thousand  dollars  capital  might  make  'em  all 
rich.  Of  course,  the  placer  end  of  it  will  be  the  big 
thing  while  the  lode  is  being  developed.  It  should  pay 
well  from  the  start.  Getting  the  start  is  easy.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  you  could  sell  any  old  wildcat  that  has 
the  magic  of  gold  about  it.  Men  seem  to  get  the  fever 
as  soon  as  they  finger  the  real  yellow  stuff.  These  fel- 
,lows  I've  talked  to  are  dead  anxious  to  get  in." 

"  But  " —  her  knowledge  of  business  methods  sug 
gested  a  difficulty  — "  you  can't  sell  stock  in  a  business 
that  has  no  real  foundation  —  yet.  Don't  you  have 
to  locate  those  claims  first?  " 

"  Wise  old  head ;  you  have  the  idea,  all  right."  He 
smiled.  "  But  this  is  not  a  stock- jobbing  proposition. 


A    BUSINESS    PROPOSITION          275 

I  wouldn't  be  in  on  it  if  it  were,  believe  me.  It's  to  be 
a  corporation,  where  not  to  exceed  six  men  will  own  all 
the  stock  that's  issued.  And  so  far  as  the  claims  are 
concerned,  I've  got  Whitey  Lewis  located  in  Fort 
George,  and  I've  been  burning  the  wires  and  spending 
a  bundle  of  real  money  getting  him  grub-staked.  He 
has  got  four  men  besides  himself  all  ready  to  hit  the 
trail  as  soon  as  I  give  the  word." 

"  You  won't  have  to  go?  "  she  put  in  quickly. 

"  No,"  he  murmured.  "  It  isn't  necessary,  at  this 
particular  stage  of  the  game.  But  I  wouldn't  mind 
popping  a  whip  over  a  good  string  of  dogs,  just  the 
same." 

"  B-r-r-r ! "  she  shivered  involuntarily.  "  Four 
hundred  miles  across  that  deep  snow,  through  that 
steady,  flesh-searing  cold.  I  don't  envy  them  the 
journey." 

Bill  relapsed  into  unsmiling  silence,  sprawling  listless 
in  his  chair,  staring  absently  at  the  rug,  as  if  he  had 
lost  all  interest  in  the  matter. 

"  If  you  stay  here  and  manage  this  end  of  it,"  she 
pursued  lightly,  "  I  suppose  you'll  have  an  office  down 
town." 

"  I  suppose  so,"  he  returned  laconically. 

She  came  over  and  stood  by  him,  playfully  rumpling 
his  brown  hair  with  her  fingers. 

"  I'm  glad  you've  found  something  to  loose  that  pent- 
up  energy  of  yours  on,  Billy-boy,"  she  said.  "  You'll 
make  a  success  of  it,  I  know.  I  don't  see  why  you 
shouldn't  make  a  success  of  any  kind  of  business.  But 
I  didn't  think  you'd  ever  tackle  business.  You  have 


276  NORTH    OF    FIFTY-THREE 

such  peculiar  views  about  business  and  business  prac 
tice." 

"  I  despise  the  ordinary  business  ethic,"  he  returned 
sharply.  "  It's  a  get-something-for-nothing  proposi 
tion  all  the  way  through;  it  is  based  on  exploiting  the 
other  fellow  in  one  form  or  another.  I  refuse  to  ex 
ploit  my  fellows  along  the  accepted  lines  —  or  any  lines. 
I  don't  have  to ;  there  are  too  many  other  ways  of  mak 
ing  a  living  open  to  me.  I  don't  care  to  live  fat  and 
make  some  one  else  foot  the  bill.  But  I  can  exploit  the 
resources  of  nature.  And  that  is  my  plan.  If  we 
make  money  it  won't  be  filched  by  a  complex  process 
from  the  other  fellow's  pockets ;  it  won't  be  wealth 
created  by  shearing  lambs  in  the  market,  by  sweatshop 
labor,  or  adulterated  food,  or  exorbitant  rental  of  filthy 
tenements.  And  I  have  no  illusions  about  the  men  I'm 
dealing  with.  If  they  undertake  to  make  a  get-rich- 
quick  scheme  of  it  I'll  knock  the  whole  business  in  the 
head.  I'm  not  overly  anxious  to  get  into  it  with  them. 
But  it  promises  action  of  some  sort  —  and  I  have  to 
do  something  till  spring." 

In  the  spring !  That  brief  phrase  set  Hazel  to  sober 
thinking.  With  April  or  May  Bill  would  spread  his 
wings  for  the  North.  There  would  be  no  more  staying 
him  than  the  flight  of  the  wild  goose  to  the  reedy  nest 
ing  grounds  could  be  stayed.  Well,  a  summer  in  the 
North  would  not  be  so  bad,  she  reflected.  But  she 
hated  to  think  of  the  isolation.  It  grieved  her  to  con 
template  exchanging  her  beautifully  furnished  apart 
ment  for  a  log  cabin  in  the  woods.  There  would  be  a 
dreary  relapse  into  monotony  after  months  of  associa- 


A    BUSINESS    PROPOSITION         277 

tion  with  clever  people,  the  swift  succession  of  brilliant 
little  functions.  It  all  delighted  her;  she  responded 
to  her  present  surroundings  as  naturally  as  a  grain  of 
wheat  responds  to  the  germinating  influences  of  warmth 
and  moisture.  It  did  not  occur  to  her  that  saving  Bill 
Wagstaff's  advent  into  her  life  she  might  have  been 
denied  all  this.  Indeed  she  felt  a  trifle  resentful  that 
he  should  prefer  the  forested  solitudes  to  the  pleasant 
social  byways  of  Granville. 

Still  she  had  hopes.  If  he  plunged  into  business  as 
sociations  with  Jimmie  Brooks  and  Paul  Lorimer  and 
others  of  that  group,  there  was  no  telling  what  might 
happen.  His  interests  might  become  permanently  iden 
tified  with  Granville.  She  loved  her  big,  wide-shouldered 
man,  anyway.  So  she  continued  to  playfully  rumple 
his  hair  and  kept  her  thoughts  to  herself. 

Bill  informed  her  from  time  to  time  as  to  the  progress 
of  his  venture.  Brooks  and  Lorimer  put  him  in  touch 
with  two  others  who  were  ready  to  chance  money  on  the 
strength  of  Bill's  statements.  The  company  was  duly 
incorporated,  with  an  authorized  capital  of  one  hun 
dred  thousand  dollars,  five  thousand  dollars'  worth  of 
stock  being  taken  out  by  each  on  a  cash  basis  —  the 
remaining  seventy-five  thousand  lying  in  the  company 
treasury,  to  be  held  or  sold  for  development  purposes 
as  the  five  saw  fit  when  work  began  to  show  what  the 
claims  were  capable  of  producing. 

Whitey  Lewis  set  out.  Bill  stuck  a  map  on  their 
living-room  wall  and  pointed  off  each  day's  journey 
with  a  pin.  Hazel  sometimes  studied  the  map,  and 
pitied  them.  So  many  miles  daily  in  a  dreary  waste 


278  NORTH    OF   FIFTY-THREE 

of  snow;  nights  when  the  frost  thrust  its  keen-pointed 
lances  into  their  tired  bodies ;  food  cooked  with  numbed 
fingers ;  the  dismal  howling  of  wolves ;  white  frost  and 
clinging  icicles  upon  their  beards  as  they  trudged  across 
trackless  areas;  and  over  all  that  awesome  hush  which 
she  had  learned  to  dread  —  breathless,  brooding  si 
lence.  Gold  madness  or  trail  madness,  or  simply  ad 
venturous  unrest?  She  could  not  say.  She  knew  only 
that  a  certain  type  of  man  found  pleasure  in  such  mad 
undertakings,  bucked  hard  trails  and  plunged  headlong 
into  vast  solitudes,  and  permitted  no  hardship  nor 
danger  to  turn  him  back. 

Bill  was  tinged  with  that  madness  for  unbeaten  trails. 
But  surely  when  a  man  mated,  and  had  a  home  and  all 
that  makes  home  desirable,  he  should  forsake  the  old 
ways?  Once  when  she  found  him  studying  the  map, 
traversing  a  route  with  his  forefinger  and  muttering 
to  himself,  she  had  a  quick  catch  at  her  heart  —  as 
if  hers  were  already  poised  to  go.  And  she  could  not 
follow  him.  Once  she  had  thought  to  do  that,  and 
gloried  in  the  prospect.  But  his  trail,  his  wilderness 
trail,  and  his  trail  gait,  were  not  for  any  woman  to  fol 
low.  It  was  too  big  a  job  for  any  woman.  And  she 
could  not  let  him  go  alone.  He  might  never  come 
back. 

Not  so  long  since  she  and  Kitty  Brooks  had  been  dis 
cussing  a  certain  couple  who  had  separated.  Vesta 
Lorimer  sat  by,  listening. 

"  How  could  they  help  but  fail  in  mutual  flight  ?  " 
the  Lorimer  girl  had  demanded.  "  An  eagle  mated  to 
a  domestic  fowl !  " 


A    BUSINESS   PROPOSITION          279 

And,  watching  Bill  stare  at  the  map,  his  body  there 
but  the  soul  of  him  tramping  the  wild  woods,  she  re 
called  Vesta  Lorimer's  characterization  of  that  other 
pair.  Surely  this  man  of  hers  was  of  the  eagle  brood. 
But  there,  in  her  mind,  the  simile  ended. 

In  early  March  came  a  telegram  from  Whitey  Lewis 
saying  that  he  had  staked  the  claims,  both  placer  and 
lode ;  that  he  was  bound  out  by  the  Telegraph  Trail  to 
file  at  Hazleton.  Bill  showed  her  the  message  —  wired 
from  Station  Six. 

"  I  wish  I  could  have  been  in  on  it  —  that  was  some 
trip,"  he  said  —  and  there  was  a  trace  of  discontent 
in  his  tone.  "  I  don't  fancy  somebody  else  pawing  my 
chestnuts  out  of  the  coals  for  me.  It  was  sure  a  man's 
job  to  cross  the  Klappan  in  the  dead  of  winter." 

The  filing  completed,  there  was  ample  work  in  the 
way  of  getting'  out  and  whipsawing  timber  to  keep 
the  five  men  busy  till  spring  —  the  five  who  were  on  the 
ground.  Lewis  sent  word  that  thirty  feet  of  snow  lay 
in  the  gold-bearing  branch.  And  that  was  the  last 
they  heard  from  him.  He  was  a  performer,  Bill  said, 
not  a  correspondent. 

So  in  Granville  the  affairs  of  the  Free  Gold  Mining 
Company  'remained  at  a  standstill  until  the  spring 
floods  should  peel  off  the  winter  blanket  of  the  North. 
Hazel  was  fully  occupied,  and  Bill  dwelt  largely  with 
his  books,  or  sketched  and  figured  on  operations  at 
the  claims.  Their  domestic  affairs  moved  with  the 
smoothness  of  a  perfectly  balanced  machine.  To  the 
very  uttermost  Hazel  enjoyed  the  well-appointed  or 
derliness  of  it  all,  the  unruffled  placidity  of  an  existence 


28o          NORTH   OF   FIFTY-THREE 

where  the  unexpected,  the  disagreeable,  the  uncouth, 
was  wholly  eliminated,  where  all  the  strange  shifts  and 
struggles  of  her  two  years  beyond  the  Rockies  were 
altogether  absent  and  impossible.  Bill's  views  he  kept 
largely  to  himself.  And  Hazel  began  to  nurse  the  idea 
that  he  was  looking  upon  civilization  with  a  kindlier 
eye. 

Ultimately,  spring  overspread  the  eastern  provinces. 
And  when  the  snows  of  winter  successively  gave  way 
to  muddy  streets  and  then  to  clean  pavements  in  the 
city  of  Granville,  a  new  gilt  sign  was  lettered  across 
the  windows  of  the  brokerage  office  in  which  Paul  Lori- 
mer  was  housed. 

FREE  GOLD  MINING  COMPANY 

P.  H.  Lorimer,  Pres.  J.  L.   Brooks,  Sec.-Treas. 

William  Wagstaff,  Manager. 

So  it  ran.  Bill  was  commissioned  in  the  army  of 
business  at  la*t. 


I 
I 

CHAPTER  XXVII 

A    BUSINESS    JOURNEY 

8SI  have  to  go  to  the  Klappan,"  Bill  apprised  his 
wife  one  evening.  "  Want  to  come  along? " 

Hazel  hesitated.  Her  first  instinctive  feeling  was 
one  of  reluctance  to  retrace  that  nerve-trying  trail. 
But  neither  did  she  wish  to  be  separated  from  him. 

"  I  see  you  don't,"  he  observed  dryly.  "  Well,  I 
can't  say  that  I  blame  you.  It's  a  stiff  trip.  If  your 
wind  and  muscle  are  in  as  poor  shape  as  mine,  I  guess 
it  would  do  you  up  —  the  effort  would  be  greater  than 
any  possible  pleasure." 

"  I'm  sorry  I  can't  feel  any  enthusiasm  for  such  a 
journey,"  she  remarked  candidly.  "  I  could  go  as  far 
as  the  coast  with  you,  and  meet  you  there  when  you 
come  out.  How  long  do  you  expect  to  be  in  there  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  exactly,"  he  replied.  "  I'm  not  go 
ing  in  from  the  coast,  though.  I'm  taking  the  Ash- 
croft-Fort  George  Trail.  I  have  to  take  in  a  pack 
train  and  more  men  and  get  work  started  on  a  decent 
scale." 

"  But  you  won't  have  to  stay  there  all  summer  and 
oversee  the  work,  will  you?  "  she  inquired  anxiously. 

"  I  should,"  he  said. 

For  a  second  or  two  he  drummed  on  the  table  top. 


282  NORTH    OF    FIFTY-THREE 

"  I  should  do  that.  It's  what  I  had  in  mind  when 
I  started  this  thing,"  he  said  wistfully.  "  I  thought 
we'd  go  in  this  spring  and  rush  things  through  the 
good  weather,  and  come  out  ahead  of  the  snow.  We 
could  stay  a  while  at  the  ranch,  and  break  up  the  winter 
with  a  jaunt  here  or  some  place." 

"  But  is  there  any  real  necessity  for  you  to  stay  on 
the  ground  ?  "  She  pursued  her  own  line  of  thought. 
*'  I  should  think  an  undertaking  of  this  size  would  jus 
tify  hiring  an  expert  to  take  charge  of  the  actual  mining 
operations.  Won't  you  have  this  end  of  it  to  look 
after?  " 

"  Lorimer  and  Brooks  are  eminently  capable  of  up 
holding  the  dignity  and  importance  of  that  sign  they've 
got  smeared  across  the  windows  downtown,"  he  ob 
served  curtly.  "  The  chief  labor  of  the  office  they've 
set  up  will  be  to  divide  the  proceeds.  The  work  will 
be  done  and  the  money  made  in  the  Klappan  Range. 
You  sabe  that,  don't  you?  " 

"  I'm  not  stupid,"  she  pouted. 

"  I  know  you're  not,  little  person,"  he  said  quietly. 
"  But  you've  changed  a  heap  in  the  last  few  months. 
You  don't  seem  to  be  my  pal  any  more.  You've  fallen 
in  love  with  this  butterfly  life.  You  appear  to  like 
me  just  as  much  as  ever,  but  if  you  could  you'd  sen 
tence  me  to  this  kid-glove  existence  for  the  rest  of  my 
natural  life.  Great  Caesar's  ghost ! "  he  burst  out. 
"  I've  laid  around  like  a  well-fed  poodle  for  seven 
months.  And  look  at  me  —  I'm  mush!  Ten  miles 
with  a  sixty-pound  pack  would  make  my  tongue  hang 
out.  I'm  thick-winded,  and  twenty  pounds  over- 


A   BUSINESS   JOURNEY  283 

weight  —  and  you  talk  calmly  about  my  settling  down 
to  office  work !  " 

His  semi-indignation,  curiously  enough,  affected 
Hazel  as  being  altogether  humorous.  She  had  a  smile- 
compelling  vision  of  that  straight,  lean-limbed,  power 
ful  body  developing  a  protuberant  waistline  and  a 
double  chin.  That  was  really  funny,  so  far-fetched 
did  it  seem.  And  she  laughed.  Bill  froze  into  rigid 
ilence. 

"  I'm  going  to-morrow,"  he  said  suddenly.  "  I 
think,  on  the  whole,  it'll  be  just  as  well  if  you  don't  go. 
Stay  here  and  enjoy  yourself.  I'll  transfer  some  more 
money  to  your  account.  I  think  I'll  drop  down  to  the 
club." 

She  followed  him  out  into  the  hall,  and,  as  he 
wriggled  into  his  coat,  she  had  an  impulse  to  throw  her 
arms  around  his  neck  and  declare,  in  all  sincerity,  that 
she  would  go  to  the  Klappan  or  to  the  north  pole  or 
any  place  on  earth  with  him,  if  he  wanted  her.  But 
by  some  peculiar  feminine  reasoning  she  reflected  in 
the  same  instant  that  if  Bill  were  away  from  her  in  a 
few  weeks  he  would  be  all  the  more  glad  to  get  back 
That  closed  her  mouth.  She  felt  too  secure  in  his 
affection  to  believe  it  could  be  otherwise.  And  then 
she  would  cheerfully  capitulate  and  go  back  with  him 
to  his  beloved  North,  to  the  Klappan  or  the  ranch  or 
wherever  he  chose.  It  was  not  wise  to  be  too  meek 
or  obedient  where  a  husband  was  concerned.  That 
was  another  mite  of  wisdom  she  had  garnered  from  the 
wives  of  her  circle. 

So  she  kissed  Bill  good-by  at  the  station  next  day 


284  NORTH    OF    FIFTY-THREE 

with  perfect  good  humor  and  no  parting  emotion  of  any 
particular  keenness.  And  if  he  were  a  trifle  sober  he 
showed  no  sign  of  resentment,  nor  uttered  any  futile 
wishes  that  she  could  accompany  him. 

"  So  long,"  he  said  from  the  car  steps.  "  I'll  keep 
in  touch  —  all  I  can." 

Then  he  was  gone. 

Somehow,  his  absence  made  less  difference  than  Hazel 
had  anticipated.  She  had  secretly  expected  to  be  very 
lonely  at  first.  And  she  was  not.  She  began  to  real 
ize  that,  unconsciously,  they  had  of  late  so  arranged 
their  manner  of  life  that  separation  was  a  question  of 
degree  rather  than  kind.  It  seemed  that  she  could 
never  quite  forego  the  impression  that  Bill  was  near  at 
hand.  She  always  thought  of  him  as  downtown  or  in 
the  living-room,  with  his  feet  up  on  the  mantel  and  a 
cigar  in  his  mouth.  Even  when  in  her  hand  she  held 
a  telegram  dated  at  a  point  five  hundred  or  a  thousand 
miles  or  double  that  distance  away  she  did  not  experi 
ence  the  feeling  of  complete  bodily  absence.  She  al 
ways  felt  as  if  he  were  near.  Only  at  night,  when  there 
was  no  long  arm  to  pillow  her  head,  no  good-night  kiss 
as  she  dozed  into  slumber,  she  missed  him,  realized  that 
he  was  far  away.  Even  when  the  days  marched  past, 
mustering  themselves  in  weekly  and  monthly  platoons 
and  Bill  still  remained  in  the  Klappan,  she  experienced 
no  dreary  leadenness  of  soul.  Her  time  passed  pleas 
antly  enough. 

Early  in  June  came  a  brief  wire  from  Station  Six. 
Three  weeks  later  the  Free  Gold  Mining  Company  set 
up  a  mild  ripple  of  excitement  along  Broad  Street  by 


A  BUSINESS  JOURNEY  285 

exhibiting  in  their  office  window  a  forty-pound  heap 
of  coarse  gold;  raw,  yellow  gold,  just  as  it  had  come 
from  the  sluice.  Every  day  knots  of  men  stood  gazing 
at  the  treasure.  The  Granville  papers  devoted  sundry 
columns  to  this  remarkably  successful  enterprise  of  its 
local  business  men.  Bill  had  forwarded  the  first 
clean-up. 

And  close  on  the  heels  of  this  —  ten  days  later,  to 
be  exact  —  he  came  home. 


CHAPTER  XXVin 

THE  BOMB 

''You  great  bear,"  Hazel  laughed,  in  the  shelter  of 
his  encircling  arms.  "  My,  it's  good  to  see  you  again." 

She  pushed  herself  back  a  little  and  surveyed  him  ad 
miringly,  with  a  gratified  sense  of  proprietorship.  The 
cheeks  of  him  were  tanned  to  a  healthy  brown",  his  eyes 
clear  and  shining.  The  offending  flesh  had  fallen  away 
on  the  strenuous  paths  of  the  Klappan.  He  radiated 
boundless  vitality,  strength,  alertness,  that  perfect  co 
ordination  of  mind  and  body  that  is  bred  of  faring  re 
sourcefully  along  rude  ways.  Few  of  his  type  trod 
the  streets  of  Granville.  It  was  a  product  solely  of  the 
outer  places.  And  for  the  time  being  the  old,  vivid 
emotion  surged  strong  within  her.  She  thrilled  at  the 
touch  of  his  hand,  was  content  to  lay  her  head  on  his 
shoulder  and  forget  everything  in  the  joy  of  his  phys 
ical  nearness.  But  the  maid  announced  dinner,  and 
her  man  must  be  fed.  He  had  missed  luncheon  on  the 
train,  he  told  her,  by  reason  of  an  absorbing  game  of 
whist. 

"  Come,  then,"  said  she.     "  You  must  be  starving." 

They  elected  to  spend  the  evening  quietly  at  home, 
as  they  used  to  do.  To  Hazel  it  seemed  quite  like  old 
times.  Bill  told  her  of  the  Klappan  country,  and  their 
prospects  at  the  mine. 


THE    BOMB  287 

"  It's  going  to  be  a  mighty  big  thing,"  he  declared. 

"  I'm  so  glad,"  said  Hazel. 

"  We've  got  a  group  of  ten  claims.  Whitey  Lewis 
and  the  original  stakers  hold  an  interest  in  their  claims. 
I,  acting  as  agent  for  these  other  fellows  in  the  com 
pany,  staked  five  more.  I  took  in  eight  more  men  — • 
and,  believe  me,  things  were  humming  when  I  left. 
Lewis  is  a  great  rustler.  He  had  out  lots  of  timber,  • 
and  we  put  in  a  wing  dam  three  hundred  feet  long,  so 
she  can  flood  and  be  darned;  they'll  keep  the  sluice 
working  just  the  same.  And  that  quartz  lead  will 
justify  a  fifty-thousand-dollar  mill.  So  I'm  told  by  an 
expert  I  took  in  to  look  it  over.  And,  say,  I  went  in 
by  the  ranch.  Old  Jake  has  a  fine  garden.  He's  still 
pegging  away  with  the  mule  '  und  Gretchen,  der  cow.' 
I  offered  him  a  chance  to  make  a  fat  little  stake  at  the 
mine,  but  he  didn't  want  to  leave  the  ranch.  Great 
old  feller,  Jake.  Something  of  a  philosopher  in  his 
way.  Pretty  wise  old  head.  He'll  make  good,  all 
right." 

In  the  morning,  Bill  ate  his  breakfast  and  started 
downtown. 

"  That's  the  dickens  of  being  a  business  man,"  he 
complained  to  Hazel,  in  the  hallway.  "  It  rides  a  man, 
once  it  gets  hold  of  him.  I'd  rather  .get  a  machine 
and  go  joy  riding  with  you  than  anything  else.  But 
I  have  to  go  and  make  a  long-winded  report;  and  I 
suppose  those  fellows  will  want  to  talk  gold  by  the 
yard.  Adios,  little  person.  I'll  get  out  for  lunch, 
business  or  no  business." 

Eleven-thirty   brought  him  home,  preoccupied    and 


a88  NORTH    OF   FIFTY-THREE 

frowning.  And  he  carried  his  frown  and  his  preoccU' 
pation  to  the  table. 

"Whatever  is  the  matter,  Bill?"  Hazel  anxiously 
inquired. 

"  Oh,  I've  got  a  nasty  hunch  that  there's  a  nigger  in 
the  woodpile,"  he  replied. 

"  What  woodpile  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  I'll  tell  you  more  about  it  to-night,"  he  said  bluntly. 
'*  I'm  going  to  pry  something  loose  this  afternoon  or 
know  the  reason  why." 

"  Is  something  the  matter  about  the  mine?  "  she  per 
sisted. 

"  No,"  he  answered  grimly.  "  There's  nothing  the 
matter  with  the  mine.  It's  the  mining  company." 

And  that  was  all  he  vouchsafed.  He  finished  his 
luncheon  and  left  the  house.  He  was  scarcely  out  of 
sight  when  Jimmie  Brooks'  runabout  drew  up  at  the 
curb.  A  half  minute  later  he  was  ushered  into  the  liv 
ing-room. 

"  Bill  in?"  was  his  first  query. 

"  No,  he  left  just  a  few  minutes  ago,"  Hazel  told 
him. 

Mr.  Brooks,  a  short,  heavy-set,  neatly  dressed  gentle 
man,  whose  rather  weak  blue  eyes  loomed  preternatu- 
rally  large  and  protuberant  behind  pince-nez  that 
f  straddled  an  insignificant  snub  nose,  took  off  his  glasses 
and  twiddled  them  in  his  white,  well-kept  fingers. 

"Ah,  too  bad!"  he  murmured.  "Thought  I'd 
catch  him. 

"  By  the  way,"  he  continued,  after  a  pause,  "  you 
—  ah  —  well,  frankly,  I  have  reason  to  believe  that  you 


THE    BOMB  289 

have  a  good  deal  of  influence  with  your  husband  in 
business  matters,  Mrs.  Wagstaff.  Kitty  says  so,  and 
she  don't  make  mistakes  very  often  in  sizing  up  a  situa 
tion." 

"  Well,  I  don't  know ;  perhaps  I  have."  Hazel  smiled 
noncommittally.  She  wondered  what  had  led  Kitty 
Brooks  to  that  conclusion.  "Why?" 

"  Well  —  ah  —  you  see,"  he  began  rather  lamely. 
"  The  fact  is  —  I  hope  you'll  regard  this  as  strictly 
confidential,  Mrs.  Wagstaff.  I  wouldn't  want  Bill  to 
think  I,  or  any  of  us,  was  trying  to  bring  pressure  on 
him.  But  the  fact  is,  Bill's  got  a  mistaken  impression 
about  the  way  we're  conducting  the  financial  end  of  this 
mining  proposition.  You  understand?  Very  able 
man,  your  husband,  but  headstrong  as  the  deuce.  I'm 
afraid  —  to  speak  frankly  —  he'll  create  a  lot  of  un 
pleasantness.  Might  disrupt  the  company,  in  fact,  if 
he  sticks  to  the  position  he  took  this  morning.  Thought 
I'd  run  in  and  talk  it  over  with  him.  Fellow's  generally 
in  a  good  humor,  you  know,  when  he's  lunched  comfort 
ably  at  home." 

"  I'm  quite  in  the  dark,"  Hazel  confessed.  "  Bill 
seemed  a  trifle  put  out  about  something.  He  didn't  say 
what  it  was  about." 

"  Shall  I  explain?  "  Mr.  Brooks  suggested.  "  You'd 
understand  —  and  you  might  be  able  to  help.  I  don't 
as  a  rule  believe  in  bringing  business  into  the  home,  but 
this  bothers  me.  I  hate  to  see  a  good  thing  go  wrong." 

"  Explain,  by  all  means,"  Hazel  promptly  replied. 
"  Tf  I  can  help,  I'll  be  glad  to." 

"  Thank  you."     Mr.  Brooks  polished  his  glasses  in- 


ago  NORTH   OF   FIFTY-THREE 

dustriously  for  a  second  and  replaced  them  with 
painstaking  exactitude.  "  Now  —  ah  —  this  is  the  sit 
uation  :  When  the  company  was  formed,  five  of  us,  in 
cluding  your  husband,  took  up  enough  stock  to  finance 
the  preliminary  work  of  the  undertaking.  The  remain 
ing  stock,  seventy-five  thousand  dollars  in  amount,  was. 
left  in  the  treasury,  to  be  held  or  put  on  the  market  as 
the  situation  warranted.  Bill  was  quite  conservative  in 
his  first  statements  concerning  the  property,  and  we  all 
felt  inclined  to  go  slow.  But  when  Bill  got  out  there  on 
the  ground  and  the  thing  began  to  pay  enormously  right 
from  the  beginning,  we  —  that  is,  the  four  of  us  here, 
decided  we  ought  to  enlarge  our  scope.  With  the  first 
clean-up,  Bill  forwarded  facts  and  figures  to  show  that 
we  had  a  property  far  beyond  our  greatest  expecta 
tions.  And,  of  course,  we  saw  at  once  that  the  thing 
was  ridiculously  undercapitalized.  By  putting  the  bal 
ance  of  the  stock  on  the  market,  we  could  secure  funds 
to  work  on  a  much  larger  scale.  Why,  this  first  ship 
ment  of  gold  is  equal  to  an  annual  dividend  of  ten  per 
cent  on  four  hundred  thousand  dollars  capital.  It's  im 
mense,  for  six  weeks'  work. 

"  So  we  held  a  meeting  and  authorized  the  secretary 
to  sell  stock.  Naturally,  your  husband  wasn't  cogni 
zant  of  this  move,  for  the  simple  reason  that  there  was 
no  way  of  reaching  him  —  and  his  interests  were  thor 
oughly  protected,  anyway.  The  stock  was  listed  on 
Change.  A  good  bit  was  disposed  of  privately.  We 
now  have  a  large  fund  in  the  treasury.  It's  a  cinch. 
We've  got  the  property,  and  it's  rich  enough  to  pay 
dividends  on  a  million.  The  decision  of  the  stockholders 


THE    BOMB  291 

is  unanimously  for  enlargement  of  the  capital  stock. 
The  quicker  we  get  that  property  to  its  maximum  out 
put  the  more  we  make,  you  see.  There's  a  fine  vein  of 
quartz  to  develop,  expensive  machinery  to  install.  It's 
no  more  than  fair  that  these  outsiders  who  are  clamor 
ing  to  get  aboard  should  pay  their  share  of  the  expense 
of  organization  and  promotion.  You  understand? 
You  follow  me?  " 

"  Certainly,"  Hazel  answered.  "  But  what  is  the  dif 
ficulty  with  Bill?  " 

Mr.  Brooks  once  more  had  recourse  to  polishing  his 
pince-nez. 

"  Bill  is  opposed  to  the  whole  plan,"  he  said,  pursing 
up  his  lips  with  evident  disapproval  of  Bill  Wagstaff 
and  all  his  works.  "  He  seems  to  feel  that  we  should 
not  have  taken  this  step.  He  declares  that  no  more 
stock  must  be  sold;  that  there  must  be  no  enlargement 
of  capital.  In  fact,  that  we  must  peg  along  in  the  little 
one-horse  way  we  started.  And  that  would  be  a  shame. 
We  could  make  the  Free  Gold  Mining  Company  the  big 
gest  thing  on  the  map,  and  put  ourselves  all  on  Easy 
Street." 

He  spread  his  hands  in  a  gesture  of  real  regret. 

"  Bill's  a  fine  fellow,"  he  said,  "  and  one  of  my  best 
friends.  But  he's  a  hard  man  to  do  business  with.  He 
takes  a  very  peculiar  view  of  the  matter.  I'm  afraid 
he'll  queer  the  company  if  he  stirs  up  trouble  over  this. 
That's  why  I  hope  you'll  use  whatever  influence  you 
have,  to  induce  him  to  withdraw  his  opposition." 

*'  But,"  Hazel  murmured,  in  some  perplexity,  "  from 
what  little  I  know  of  corporations,  I  don't  see  how  he 


292  NORTH   OF   FIFTY-THREE 

can  set  up  any  difficulty.  If  a  majority  of  the  stock« 
holders  decide  to  do  anything,  that  settles  it,  doesn't  it? 
Bill  is  a  minority  of  one,  from  what  you  say.  And  I 
don't  see  what  difference  his  objections  make,  anyway. 
How  can  he  stop  you  from  taking  any  line  of  action 
whatever?  " 

"  Oh,  not  that  at  all,"  Brooks  hastily  assured.  "  Of 
course,  we  can  outvote  him,  and  put  it  through.  But 
we  want  him  with  us,  don't  you  see?  We've  a  high 
opinion  of  his  ability.  He's  the  sort  of  man  who  gets 
results;  practical,  you  know;  knows  mining  to  a  T. 
Only  he  shies  at  our  financial  method.  And  if  he  began 
any  foolish  litigation,  or  silly  rumors  got  started  about 
trouble  among  the  company  officers,  it's  bound  to  hurt 
the  stock.  It's  all  right,  I  assure  you.  We're  not 
foisting  a  wildcat  on  the  market.  We've  got  the  goods. 
Bill  admits  that.  It's  the  regular  method,  not  only  le 
gitimate,  but  good  finance.  Every  dollar's  worth  of 
stock  sold  has  the  value  behind  it.  Distributes  the  risk 
a  little  more,  that's  all,  and  gives  the  company  a  funcl 
to  operate  successfully. 

"  If  Bill  mentions  it,  you  might  suggest  that  he  look 
into  the  matter  a  little  more  fully  before  he  takes  any 
definite  action,"  Brooks  concluded,  rising.  "  I  must 
get  down  to  the  office.  It's  his  own  interests  I'm  think 
ing  of,  as  much  as  my  own.  Of  course,  he  couldn't 
block  a  reorganization  —  but  we  want  to  satisfy  him  in 
every  particular,  and,  at  the  same  time,  carry  out  these 
plans.  It's  a  big  thing  for  all  of  us.  A  big  thing,  I 
assure  you." 

He  rolled  away  in  his  car,  and  Hazel  watched  him 


THE   BOMB  293 

from  the  window,  a  trifle  puzzled.  She  recalled  Bill's 
remark  at  luncheon.  In  the  light  of  Brooks'  explana 
tion,  she  could  see  nothing  wrong.  On  the  other  hand, 
she  knew  Bill  Wagstaff  was  not  prone  to  jump  at  rash 
conclusions.  It  was  largely  his  habit  to  give  others  the 
benefit  of  the  doubt.  If  he  objected  to  certain  manipu 
lations  of  the  Free  Gold  Mining  Company,  his  objection 
was  likely  to  be  based  on  substantial  grounds.  But 
then,  as  Brooks  had  observed,  or,  rather,  inferred,  Bill 
was  not  exactly  an  expert  on  finance,  and  this  new  deal 
savored  of  pure  finance  —  a  term  which  she  had  heard 
Bill  scoff  at  more  than  once.  At  any  rate,  she  hoped 
nothing  disagreeable  would  come  of  it. 

So  she  put  the  whole  matter  out  of  her  mind.  She 
had  an  engagement  with  a  dressmaker,  and  an  invitation 
to  afternoon  tea  following  on  that.  She  dressed,  and 
went  whole-heartedly  about  her  own  affairs. 

Dinner  time  was  drawing  close  when  she  returned 
home.  She  sat  down  by  a  window  that  overlooked  the 
street  to  watch  for  Bill.  As  a  general  thing  he  was 
promptness  personified,  and  since  he  was  but  twenty- 
four  hours  returned  from  a  three  months'  absence,  she 
felt  that  he  would  not  linger  —  and  Granville's  business 
normally  ceased  at  five  o'clock. 

Six  passed.  The  half-hour  chime  struck  on  the  man 
tel  clock.  Hazel  grew  impatient,  petulant,  aggrieved. 
Dinner  would  be  served  in  twenty  minutes.  Still  there 
was  no  sign  of  him.  And  for  lack  of  other  occupation 
she  went  into  the  hall  and  got  the  evening  paper,  which 
the  carrier  had  just  delivered. 

A  staring  headline  on  the  front  page  stiffened  her  to 


294  NORTH    OF   FIFTY-THREE 

scandalized  attention.     Straight  across  the  tops  of  tw« 
columns  it  ran,  a  facetious  caption: 

WILLIAM  WAGSTAFF  IS  A  BEAR 

Under  that  the  subhead: 

Husky    Mining    Man    Tumbles    Prices    and    Brokers. 
Whips  Four  men  in  Broad   Street  Office.      Slugs 
Another   on   Change.     His   Mighty   Fists    Sub 
due  Society's  Finest.     Finally  Lands  in  Jail. 

The  body  of  the  article  Hazel  read  in  what  a  sob  sis 
ter  would  describe  as  a  state  of  mingled  emotions. 

William  Wagstaff  is  a  mining  gentleman  from  the  northern 
wilds  of  British  Columbia.  He  is  a  big  man,  a  natural-born 
fighter.  To  prove  this  he  inflicted  a  black  eye  and  a  split  lip 
on  Paul  Lorimer,  a  broken  nose  and  sundry  bruises  on  James 
L.  Brooks.  Also  Allen  T.  Bray  and  Edward  Gurney  Parkinson 
suffered  certain  contusions  in  the  melee.  The  fracas  occurred  in 
the  office  of  the  Free  Gold  Mining  Company,  1546  Broad  Street, 
at  three-thirty  this  afternoon.  While  hammering  the  brokers 
a  police  officer  arrived  on  the  scene  and  Wagstaff  was  duly 
escorted  to  the  city  bastile.  Prior  to  the  general  encounter  in 
the  Broad  Street  office  Wagstaff  walked  into  the  Stock  Exchange, 
and  made  statements  about  the  Free  Gold  Mining  Company 
which  set  all  the  brokers  by  the  ears.  Lorimer  was  on  the  floor, 
and  received  his  discolored  optic  there. 

Lorimer  is  a  partner  in  the  brokerage  firm  of  Bray,  Park 
inson  &  Co.,  and  is  president  of  the  Free  Gold  Mining  Com 
pany.  Brooks  is  manager  of  the  Acme  Advertisers,  and  sec 
retary  of  Free  Gold.  Bray  and  Parkinson  are  stockholders,  and 
Wagstaff  is  a  stockholder  and  also  manager  of  the  Free  Gold 
properties  in  B.  C.  All  are  well  known  about  town. 

A  reporter  was  present  when  Wagstaff  walked  on  the  floor 
of  the  Stock  Exchange.  He  strode  up  to  the  post  where  Lori 
mer  was  transacting  business. 


THE   BOMB  295 

"  I  serve  notice  on  you  right  now,"  he  said  loudly  and  angrily, 
"  that  if  you  sell  another  dollar's  worth  of  Free  Gold  stock,  I'll 
put  you  out  of  business." 

Lorimer  appeared  to  lose  his  temper.  Some  word  was  passed 
which  further  incensed  Wagstaff.  He  smote  the  broker  and  the 
broker  smote  the  floor.  Wagstaff's  punch  would  do  credit  to  a 
champion  pugilist,  from  the  execution  it  wrought.  He  imme 
diately  left  the  Stock  Exchange,  and  not  long  afterward  Broad 
Street  was  electrified  by  sounds  of  combat  in  the  Free  Gold  of 
fice.  It  is  conceded  that  Wagstaff  had  the  situation  and  his 
three  opponents  well  in  hand  when  the  cop  arrived. 

None  of  the  men  concerned  would  discuss  the  matter.  From 
the  remarks  dropped  by  Wagstaff,  however,  it  appears  that  the 
policy  of  marketing  Free  Gold  stock  was  inaugurated  without 
his  knowledge  or  consent. 

Be  that  as  it  may,  all  sorts  of  rumors  are  in  circulation,  and 
Free  Gold  stock,  which  has  been  sold  during  the  past  week  as 
high  as  a  dollar  forty,  found  few  takers  at  par  when  Change 
closed.  There  has  been  a  considerable  speculative  movement  in 
the  stock,  and  the  speculators  are  beginning  to  wonder  if  there 
is  a  screw  loose  in  the  company  affairs. 

Wagstaff's  case  will  come  up  to-morrow  forenoon.  A  charge 
of  disturbing  the  peace  was  placed  against  him.  He  gave  a 
cash  bond  and  was  at  once  released.  When  the  hearing  comes 
some  of  the  parties  to  the  affair  may  perchance  divulge  what  lay 
at  the  bottom  of  the  row. 

Any  fine  within  the  power  of  the  court  to  impose  is  a  mere 
bagatelle,  compared  to  the  distinction  of  scientifically  man 
handling  four  of  society's  finest  in  one  afternoon.  As  one  by 
stander  remarked  in  the  classic  phraseology  of  the  street: 

"Wagstaff's   a  bear!" 

The  brokers  concerned  might  consider  this  to  have  a  double 
meaning. 

Hazel  dropped  the  paper,  mortified  and  wrathful. 
The  city  jail  seemed  the  very  Pit  itself  to  her.  And 
the  lurid  publicity,  the  lifted  eyebrows  of  her  friends, 
maddened  her  in  prospect.  Plain  street  brawling,  such 
as  one  might  expect  from  a  cabman  or  a  taxi  mahout- 


NORTH   OF   FIFTY-THREE 

not  fr*om  a  man  like  her  husband.  She  involuntarily 
assigned  the  blame  to  him.  Not  for  the  cause  —  the 
cause  was  of  no  importance  whatever  to  her  —  but  for 
the  act  itself.  Their  best  friends!  She  could  hardly 
realize  it.  Jimmie  Brooks,  jovial  Jimmie,  with  a 
broken  nose  and  sundry  bruises !  And  Paul  Lorimer, 
distinguished  Paul,  who  had  the  courtly  bearing  which 
was  the  despair  of  his  fellows,  and  the  manner  of  a 
dozen  generations  of  culture  wherewith  to  charm  the 
women  of  his  acquaintance.  He  with  a  black  eye  and 
a  split  lip!  So  the  paper  stated.  It  was  vulgar. 
Brutal!  The  act  of  a  cave  man. 

She  was  on  the  verge  of  tears. 

And  just  at  that  moment  the  door  op  ned,  and  in 
walked  Bill. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

THE    NOTE    DISCORDANT 

Bill  had  divested  himself  of  the  scowl.  He  smiled  as 
a  man  who  has  solved  some  knotty  problem  to  his  entire 
satisfaction.  Moreover,  he  bore  no  mark  of  conflict, 
none  of  the  conventional  scars  of  a  rough-and-tumble 
fight.  His  clothing  was  in  perfect  order,  his  tie  and 
collar  properly  arranged,  as  a  gentleman's  tie  and  col 
lar  should  be.  For  a  moment  Hazel  found  herself  be 
lieving  the  Herald  story  a  pure  canard.  But  as  he 
walked  across  the  room  her  searching  gaze  discovered 
that  the  knuckles  of  both  his  hands  were  bruised  and 
bloody,  the  skin  broken.  She  picked  up  the  paper. 

"  Is  this  true  ?  "  she  asked  tremulously,  pointing  to 
the  offending  headlines. 

Bill  frowned. 

"  Substantially  correct,"  he  answered  coolly. 

"  Bill,  how  could  you  ?  "  she  cried.  "  It's  simply 
disgraceful.  Brawling  in  public  like  any  saloon  loafer, 
and  getting  in  jail  and  all.  Haven't  you  any  consid 
eration  for  me  —  any  pride?  " 

His  eyes  narrowed  with  an  angry  glint. 

"  Yes,"  he  said  deliberately.  "  I  have.  Pride  in  my 
word  as  a  man.  A  sort  of  pride  that  won't  allow  any 
bunch  of  lily-fingered  crooks  to  make  me  a  party  to  any 
dirty  deal.  I  don't  propose  to  get  the  worst  of  it  in 


2g8  NORTH    OF   FIFTY-THREE 

that  way.  I  won't  allow  myself  to  be  tarred  with  their 
stick." 

"  But  they're  not  trying  to  give  you  the  worst  of  it," 
she  burst  out.  Visions  of  utter  humiliation  arose  to 
confront  and  madden  her.  "  You've  insulted  and 
abused  our  best  friends  —  to  say  nothing  of  giving  us 
all  the  benefit  of  newspaper  scandal.  We'll  be  notori 
ous  ! " 

"  Best  friends  ?  God  save  the  mark ! "  he  snorted 
contemptuously.  "  Our  best  friends,  as  you  please  to 
call  them,  are  crooks,  thieves,  and  liars.  They're  rot 
ten.  They  stink  with  their  moral  rottenness.  And 
they  have  the  gall  to  call  it  good  business." 

"  Just  because  their  business  methods  don't  agree 
with  your  peculiar  ideas  is  no  reason  why  you  should 
call  names,"  she  flared.  "  Mr.  Brooks  called  just  after 
you  left  at  noon.  He  told  me  something  about  this,  and 
assured  me  that  you  would  find  yourself  mistaken  if 
you'd  only  take  pains  to  think  it  over.  I  don't  believe 
such  men  as  they  are  would  stoop  to  anything  crooked. 
Even  if  the  opportunity  offered,  they  have  too  much  at 
stake  in  this  community.  They  couldn't  afford  to  be 
crooked." 

"  So  Brooks  came  around  to  talk  it  over  with  you, 
eh?  "  Bill  sneered.  "  Told  you  it  was  all  on  the  square, 
did  he?  Explained  it  all  very  plausibly,  I  suppose. 
Probably  suggested  that  you  try  smoothing  me  down, 
too.  It  would  be  like  'em." 

"  He  did  explain  about  this  stock-selling  business," 
Hazel  replied  defensively.  "  And  I  can't  see  why  you 
find  it  necessary  to  make  a  fuss.  I  don't  see  where  the 


THE    NOTE    DISCORDANT  299 

cheating  and  crookedness  comes  in.  Everybody  who 
buys  stock  gets  their  money's  worth,  don't  they?  But 
I  don't  care  anything  about  your  old  mining  deal.  It's 
this  fighting  and  quarreling  with  people  who  are  not 
used  to  that  sort  of  brute  action  —  and  the  horrid 
things  they'll  say  and  think  about  us." 

"  About  you,  you  mean  —  as  the  wife  of  such  a  boor 
—  that's  what's  rubbing  you  raw,"  Bill  flung  out  pas 
sionately.  "  You're  acquiring  the  class  psychology 
good  and  fast.  Did  you  ever  think  of  anybody  but 
yourself?  Have  I  ever  betrayed  symptoms  of  idiocy? 
Do  you  think  it  natural  or  even  likely  for  me  to  raise 
the  devil  in  a  business  affair  like  this  out  of  sheer  mal 
ice?  Don't  I  generally  have  a  logical  basis  for  any 
position  I  take?  Yet  you  don't  wait  or  ask  for  any  ex 
planation  from  me.  You  stand  instinctively  with  the 
crowd  that  has  swept  you  off  your  feet  in  the  last  six 
taonths.  You  take  another  man's  word  that  it's  all 
fight  and  I'm  all  wrong,  without  waiting  to  hear  my  side 
of  it.  And  the  petty-larceny  incident  of  my  knocking 
flown  two  or  three  men  and  being  under  arrest  as  much 
as  thirty  minutes  looms  up  before  you  as  the  utter 
depths  of  disgrace.  Disgrace  to  you !  It's  all  you  — > 
you!  How  do  you  suppose  it  strikes  me  to  have  my 
wife  take  sides  against  me  on  snap  judgment  like  that? 
It  shows  a  heap  of  faith  and  trust  and  loyalty,  doesn't 
it?  Oh,  it  makes  me  real  proud  and  glad  of  my  mate, 
It  does.  By  thunder,  if  Granville  had  ever  treated  me 
as  it  tried  to  treat  you  one  time,  according  to  your  own 
account,  I'd  wipe  my  feet  on  them  at  every  oppor 
tunity." 


joo  NORTH    OF    FIFTY-THREE 

"  If  you'd  explain,"  Hazel  began  hesitatingly.  She 
was  thoroughly  startled  at  the  smoldering  wrath  that 
flared  out  in  this  speech  of  his.  She  bitterly  resetted 
being  talked  to  in  that  fashion.  It  was  unjust.  Par 
ticularly  that  last  fling.  And  she  was  not  taking  sides. 
She  refused  to  admit  that  —  even  though  she  had  a  dis 
turbing  consciousness  that  her  attitude  could  scarcely 
be  construed  otherwise. 

"  I'll  explain  nothing,"  Bill  flashed  stormily.  "  Not 
at  this  stage  of  the  game.  I'm  through  explaining. 
I'm  going  to  act.  I  refuse  to  be  raked  over  the  coals 
like  a  naughty  child,  and  then  asked  to  tell  why  I  did  it. 
I'm  right,  and  when  I  know  I'm  right  I'll  go  the  limit. 
I'm  going  to  take  the  kinks  out  of  this  Free  Gold  deal 
inside  of  forty-eight  hours.  Then  I'm  through  with 
Granville.  Hereafter  I  intend  to  fight  shy  of  a  breed 
of  dogs  who  lose  every  sense  of  square  dealing  when 
there  is  a  bunch  of  money  in  sight.  I  shall  be  ready  to 
leave  here  within  a  week.  And  I  want  you  to  be  ready, 
too." 

"  I  won't,"  she  cried,  on  the  verge  of  hysterics.  "  I 
won't  go  back  to  that  cursed  silence  and  loneliness. 
You  made  this  trouble  here,  not  I.  I  won't  go  back  to 
Pine  River,  or  the  Klappan.  I  won't,  I  tell  you !  " 

Bill  stared  at  her  moodily  for  a  second. 

"  Just  as  you  please,"  he  said  quietly. 

He  walked  into  the  spare  bedroom.  Hazel  heard  the 
door  close  gently  behind  him,  heard  the  soft  click  of  a 
well-oiled  lock.  Then  she  slumped,  gasping,  in  the 
wide-armed  chair  by  the  window,  and  the  hot  tears  came 
in  a  blinding  flood. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

THE    AFTERMATH 

They  exchanged  only  bare  civilities  at  the  breakfast 
table,  and  Bill  at  once  went  downtown.  When  he  was 
gone,  Hazel  fidgeted  uneasily  about  the  rooms.  She 
had  only  a  vague  idea  of  legal  processes,  having  never 
seen  the  inside  of  a  courtroom.  She  wondered  what 
penalty  would  be  inflicted  on  Bill,  whether  he  would  be 
fined  or  sent  to  prison.  Surely  it  was  a  dreadful  thing 
to  batter  men  like  Brooks  and  Lorimer  and  Parkinson. 
They  might  even  make  it  appear  that  Bill  had  tried  to 
murder  them.  Her  imagination  magnified  and  dis 
torted  the  incident  out  of  all  proportion. 

And  brooding  over  these  things,  she  decided  to  go 
and  talk  it  over  with  Kitty  Brooks.  Kitty  would  not 
blame  her  for  these  horrid  man  troubles. 

But  she  was  mistaken  there.  Kitty  was  all  up  in 
arms.  She  was  doubly  injured.  Her  husband  had 
suffered  insult  and  brutal  injury.  Moreover,  he  was 
threatened  with  financial  loss.  Perhaps  that  threat 
ened  wound  in  the  pocketbook  loomed  larger  than  the 
physical  hurt.  At  any  rate,  she  vented  some  of  her 
spleen  on  Hazel. 

"  Your  husband  started  this  mining  thing,"  she  de 
clared  heatedly.  "  Jimmie  says  that  if  he  persists  in 
trying  to  turn  things  upside  down  it  will  mean  a  loss  of 


302  NORTH   OF   FIFTY-THREE 

thousands.  And  we  haven't  any  money  to  lose  —  I'm 
sure  Jimmie  has  worked  hard  for  what  he's  got.  I'm 
simply  sick  over  it.  It's  bad  enough  to  have  one's  hus 
band  brought  home  looking  as  if  he'd  been  slugged  by 
footpads,  and  to  have  the  papers  go  on  about  it  so. 
But  to  have  a  big  loss  inflicted  on  us  just  when  we  were 
really  beginning  to  get  ahead,  is  too  much.  I  wisfe 
you'd  never  introduced  your  miner  to  us." 

That  speech,  of  course,  obliterated  friendship  on  the 
spot,  as  far  as  Ha2el  was  concerned.  Even  though  shf 
was  quite  prepared  to  have  Bill  blamed  for  the  trouble, 
did  in  fact  so  blame  him  herself,  she  could  not  stomach 
Kitty's  language  nor  attitude.  But  the  humiliation 
of  the  interview  she  chalked  up  against  Bill.  She  went 
home  with  a  red  spot  glowing  on  either  cheekbone.  A 
rather  incoherent  telephone  conversation  with  Mrs.  Al 
len  T.  Bray,  in  which  that  worthy  matron  declared  her 
husband  prostrated  from  his  injuries,  and  in  the  same 
breath  intimated  that  Mr.  Wagstaff  would  be  compelled 
to  make  ample  reparation  for  his  ruffianly  act,  did  not 
tend  to  soothe  her. 

Bill  failed  to  appear  at  luncheon.  During  the  after« 
noon  an  uncommon  number  of  her  acquaintances  dropped 
in.  In  the  tactful  manner  of  their  kind  they  buzzed 
with  the  one  absorbing  topic.  Some  were  vastly  amused 
Some  were  sympathetic.  One  and  all  they  were  con 
sumed  with  curiosity  for  detailed  inside  information  on 
the  Free  Gold  squabble.  One  note  rang'  consistently  in 
their  gossipy  song:  The  Free  Gold  Company  was  go 
ing  to  lose  a  pot  of  money  in  some  manner,  as  a  conse 
quence  of  the  affair.  Mr.  Wagstaff  had  put  some  sur- 


THE    AFTERMATH  303 

prising  sort  of  spoke  in  the  company's  wheel.  They 
had  that  from  their  husbands  who  trafficked  on  Broad 
Street.  By  what  power  he  had  accomplished  this  re 
mained  a  mystery  to  the  ladies.  Singly  and  collectively 
they  drove  Hazel  to  the  verge  of  distraction.  When 
the  house  was  at  last  clear  of  them  she  could  have  wept, 
Through  no  fault  of  her  own  she  had  given  Granville 
another  choice  morsel  to  roll  under  its  gossipy  tongue. 

So  that  when  six  o'clock  brought  Bill  home,  she  was 
coldly  disapproving  of  him  and  his  affairs  in  their  en 
tirety,  and  at  no  pains  to  hide  her  feelings.  He  fol 
lowed  her  into  the  living-room  when  the  uncomfortable 
meal  —  uncomfortable  by  reason  of  the  surcharged  at 
mosphere  —  was  at  an  end. 

"  Let's  get  down  to  bed  rock,  Hazel,"  he  said  gently. 
"  Doesn't  it  seem  rather  foolish  to  let  a  bundle  of  out 
side  troubles  set  up  so  much  friction  between  us  two? 
I  don't  want  to  stir  anything  up ;  I  don't  want  to  quar 
rel.  But  I  can't  stand  this  coldness  and  reproach  from 
you.  It's  unjust,  for  one  thing.  And  it's  so  unwise 
—  if  we  value  our  happiness  as  a  thing  worth  making 
some  effort  to  save." 

"  I  don't  care  to  discuss  it  at  all,"  she  flared  up 
"  I've  heard  nothing  else  all  day  but  this  miserable  min 
ing  business  and  your  ruffianly  method  of  settling  a  dis 
pute.  I'd  rather  not  talk  about  it." 

"  But  we  must  talk  about  it,"  he  persisted  patiently. 
"  I've  got  to  show  you  how  the  thing  stands,  so  that  you 
can  see  for  yourself  where  your  misunderstanding 
comes  in.  You  can't  get  to  the  bottom  of  anything 
without  more  or  less  talk." 


304          NORTH   OF  FIFTY-THREE 

"  Talk  to  yourself,  then,"  she  retorted  ungraciously. 
And  with  that  she  ran  out  of  the  roam. 

But  she  had  forgotten  or  underestimated  the  catlike 
quickness  of  her  man.  He  caught  her  in  the  doorway, 
and  the  grip  of  his  fingers  on  her  arm  brought  a  cry  of 
pain. 

"Forgive  me.  I  didn't  mean  to  hurt,"  he  said  con 
tritely.  "  Be  a  good  girl,  Hazel,  and  let's  get  our  feet 
on  earth  again.  Sit  down  and  put  your  arm  around  m>r 
neck  and  be  my  pal,  like  you  used  to  be.  We've  got  »» 
business  nursing  these  hard  feelings.  It's  folly.  [ 
haven't  committed  any  crime.  I've  only  stood  for  I 
square  deal.  Come  on;  bury  the  hatchet,  little  pej  * 
son." 

"  Let  me  go,"  she  sobbed,  struggling  to  be  frea,  "  I 
h-hate  you ! " 

"  Please,  little  person.  I  can't  eat  humble  pie  moi  e 
than  once  or  twice." 

"  Let  me  go,"  she  panted.  "  I  don't  want  you  t  o 
touch  me." 

"  Listen  to  me,"  he  said  sternly.  "  I've  stood  aboi  t 
all  of  your  nonsense  I'm  able  to  stand.  I've  had  to 
fight  a  pack  of  business  wolves  to  keep  them  from  pick- 
,  ing  my  carcass,  and,  what's  more  important  to  me,  to 
keep  them  from  handing  a  raw  deal  to  five  men  whc 
wallowed  through  snow  and  frost  and  all  kinds  of  hard 
ship  to  make  these  sharks  a  fortune.  I've  got  down  to 
their  level  and  fought  them  with  their  own  weapons  — • 
and  the  thing  is  settled.  I  said  last  night  I'd  be 
through  here  inside  a  week.  I'm  through  now  — 
through  here.  I  have  business  in  the  Klappan;  to 


THE   AFTERMATH  305 

complete  this  thing  I've  set  my  hand  to.  Then  I'm  go 
ing  to  the  ranch  and  try  to  get  the  bad  taste  out  of  my 
mouth,  I'm  going  to-morrow.  I've  no  desire  or  in 
tention  to  coerce  you.  You're  my  wife,  and  your  place 
Is  with  me,  if  you  care  anything  about  me.  And  I 
want  you.  You  know  that,  don't  you?  I  wouldn't  be 
begging  you  like  this  if  I  didn't.  /  haven't  changed, 
nor  had  my  eyes  dazzled  by  any  false  gods.  But  it's 
up  to  you.  I  don't  bluff.  I'm  going,  and  if  I  have  to 
go  without  you  I  won't  come  back.  Think  it  over,  and 
just  ask  yourself  honestly  if  it's  worth  while." 

He  drew  her  up  close  to  him  and  kissed  her  on  one 
anger-flushed  cheek,  and  then,  as  he  had  done  the  night 
before,  walked  straight  away  to  the  bedroom  and  closed 
the  door  behind  him. 

Hazel  slept  little  that  night.  A  horrid  weight 
seemed  to  rest  suffocatingly  upon  her.  More  than  once 
she  had  an  impulse  to  creep  in  there  where  Bill  lay 
and  forget  it  all  in  the  sweep  of  that  strong  arm.  But 
she  choked  back  the  impulse  angrily.  She  would  not 
forgive  him.  He  had  made  her  suffer.  For  his  high-, 
handedness  she  would  make  him  suffer  in  kind.  At 
least,  she  would  not  crawl  to  him  begging  forgiveness. 

When  sunrise  laid  a  yellow  beam,  all  full  of  dancing 
motes,  across  her  bed,  she  heard  Bill  stir,  heard  him 
moving  about  the  apartment  with  restless  steps.  After 
a  time  she  also  heard  the  unmistakable  sound  of  a  trunk 
lid  thrown  back,  and  the  movements  of  him  as  he  gath 
ered  his  clothes  —  so  she  surmised.  But  she  did  not 
rise  till  the  maid  rapped  on  her  door  with  the  eight- 
o'clock  salutation: 


306          NORTH   OF   FIFTY-THREE 

"  Breakfast,  ma'am." 

They  made  a  pretense  of  eating.  Hazel  sought  a 
chair  in  the  living-room.  A  book  lay  open  in  her  lap. 
But  the  print  ran  into  blurred  lines.  She  could  not  fol 
low  the  sense  of  the  words.  An  incessant  turmoil  of 
thought  harassed  her.  Bill  passed  through  the  room 
once  or  twice.  Determinedly  she  ignored  him.  The 
final  snap  of  the  lock  on  his  trunk  came  to  her  at  last, 
the  bumping  sounds  of  its  passage  to  the  hall.  Then  a 
burly  expressman  shouldered  it  into  his  wagon  and 
drove  away. 

A  few  minutes  after  that  Bill  came  in  and  took  a  seat 
facing  her. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do,  Hazel?"  he  asked  so 
berly. 

"  Nothing,"  she  curtly  replied. 

"  Are  you  going  to  sit  down  and  fold  your  hands  and 
let  our  air  castles  come  tumbling  about  our  ears,  with 
out  making  the  least  effort  to  prevent?  "  he  continued 
gently.  "  Seems  to  me  that's  not  like  you  at  alL  I 
never  thought  you  were  a  quitter." 

"  I'm  not  a  quitter,"  she  flung  back  resentfully.  "  I 
refuse  to  be  browbeaten,  that's  all.  There  appears  to 
be  only  one  choice  —  to  follow  you  like  a  lamb.  And 
I'm  not  lamblike.  I'd  say  that  you  are  the  quitter. 
You  have  stirred  up  all  this  trouble  here  between  us. 
Now  you're  running  away  from  it.  That's  how  it  looks 
to  me.  Go  on!  I  can  get  along." 

"  I  dare  say  you  can,"  he  commented  wearily. 
"  Most  of  us  can  muddle  along  somehow,  no  matter  what 
happens.  But  it  seems  a  pity,  little  person.  We  had 


THE   AFTERMATH  307 

all  the  chance  in  the  world.  You've  developed  an  ab 
normal  streak  lately.  If  you'd  just  break  away  and 
come  back  with  me.  You  don't  know  what  good  medi 
cine  those  old  woods  are.  Won't  you  try  it  a  while?  '* 

"  I  am  not  by  nature  fitted  to  lead  the  hermit  exist- 
2nce,"  she  returned  sarcastically. 

And  even  while  her  lips  were  uttering  these  various 
unworthy  little  bitternesses  she  inwardly  wondered  at 
her  own  words.  It  was  not  what  she  would  have  said, 
not  at  all  what  she  was  half  minded  to  say.  But  a  devil 
of  perverseness  spurred  her.  She  was  full  of  protest 
Against  everything. 

"  I  wish  we'd  had  a  baby,"  Bill  murmured  softly. 
"  You'd  be  different.  You'd  have  something  to  live  for 
besides  this  frothy,  neurotic  existence  that  has  poisoned 
you  against  the  good,  clean,  healthy  way  of  life.  I  wish 
we'd  had  a  kiddie.  We'd  have  a  fighting  chance  for 
happiness  now;  something  to  keep  us  sane,  something 
outside  of  our  own  ege  to  influence  us." 

"  Thank  God  there  isn't  one ! "  she  muttered. 

"  Ah,  well,"  Bill  sighed,  "  I  guess  there  is  no  use.  I 
guess  we  can't  get  together  on  anything.  There 
doesn't  seem  to  be  any  give-and-take  between  us  any 
'•onger." 

He  rose  and  walked  to  the  door.  With  his  hand  on 
the  knob,  he  turned. 

"  I  have  fixed  things  at  the  bank  for  you,"  he  said 
abruptly. 

Then  he  walked  out,  without  waiting  for  an  answer. 

She  heard  the  soft  whir  of  the  elevator.  A  minute 
later  she  saw  him  on  the  sidewalk.  He  had  an  overcoat 


308          NORTH    OF   FIFTY-THREE 

on  his  arm,  a  suit  case  in  his  hand.  She  saw  him  lift  a 
finger  to  halt  a  passing  car. 

It  seemed  incredible  that  he  should  go  like  that. 
Surely  he  would  come  back  at  noon  or  at  dinner  time. 
She  had  always  felt  that  under  his  gentleness  there  was 
iron.  But  deep  in  her  heart  she  had  never  believed  him 
so  implacable  of  purpose  where  she  was  concerned. 

She  waited  wearily,  stirring  with  nervous  restless 
ness  from  room  to  room. 

Luncheon  passed.  The  afternoon  dragged  by  to  a 
close.  Dusk  fell.  And  when  the  night  wrapped  Gran- 
ville  in  its  velvet  mantle,  and  the  street  lights  blinked 
away  in  shining  rows,  she  cowered,  sobbing,  in  the  big 
chair  by  the  window. 

He  was  gone. 

Gone,  without  even  saying  geod-bj! 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

A    LETTER    FROM    BILL 

All  through  the  long  night  she  lay  awake,  struggling 
with  the  incredible  fact  that  Bill  had  left  her ;  trying  to 
absolve  herself  from  blame ;  flaring  up  in  anger  at  his 
unyielding  attitude,  even  while  she  was  sorely  conscious 
that  she  herself  had  been  stubbornly  unyielding.  If  he 
had  truly  loved  her,  she  reiterated,  he  would  never  hav^ 
made  it  an  issue  between  them.  But  that  was  like  a  man 
—  to  insist  on  his  own  desires  being  made  paramount ; 
to  blunder  on  headlong,  no  matter  what  antagonisms 
he  aroused.  And  he  was  completely  in  the  wrong,  she 
reasserted. 

She  recapitulated  it  all.  Through  the  winter  he  had 
consistently  withdrawn  into  his  shell.  For  her  friends 
and  for  most  of  her  pleasures  he  had  at  best  exhibited 
only  tolerance.  And  he  had  ended  by  outraging  both 
them  and  her,  and  on  top  of  that  demanded  that  she 
turn  her  back  at  twenty-four  hours'  notice,  on  Gran- 
ville  and  all  its  associations  and  follow  him  into  a  wil 
derness  that  she  dreaded.  She  had  full  right  to  her  re 
sentment.  As  his  partner  in  the  chancy  enterprise  of 
marriage  were  not  her  feelings  and  desires  entitled  to 
equal  consideration?  He  had  assumed  the  role  of  dic 
tator.  And  she  had  revolted.  That  was  all.  She  was 
justified. 


310  NORTH    OF    FIFTY-THREE 

Eventually  she  slept.  At  ten  o'clock,  heavy-eyed, 
suffering  an  intolerable  headache,  she  rose  and  dressed. 

Beside  her  plate  lay  a  thick  letter  addressed  in  Bill's 
handwriting.  She  drank  her  coffee  and  went  back  to 
the  bedroom  before  she  opened  the  envelope.  By  the 
postmark  she  saw  that  it  had  been  mailed  on  a  train. 

DEAR  GIRL:  I  have  caught  my  breath,  so  to  speak, 
but  I  doubt  if  ever  a  more  forlorn  cuss  listened  to  the 
interminable  clicking  of  car  wheels.  I  am  tempted  at 
each  station  to  turn  back  and  try  again.  It  seems  so 
unreal,  this  parting  in  hot  anger,  so  miserably  unneces 
sary.  But  when  I  stop  to  sum  it  up  again,  I  see  no  use 
in  another  appeal.  I  could  come  back  —  yes.  Only 
the  certain  knowledge  that  giving  in  like  that  would 
send  us  spinning  once  more  in  a  vicious  circle  prevents 
me.  I  didn't  believe  it  possible  that  we  could  get  so 
far  apart.  Nor  that  a  succession  of  little  things  could 
cut  so  weighty  a  figure  in  our  lives.  And  perhaps  you 
are  very  sore  and  resentful  at  me  this  morning  for  be 
ing  so  precipitate. 

I  couldn't  help  it,  Hazel.  It  seemed  the  only  way. 
It  seems  so  yet  to  me.  There  was  nothing  more  to  keep 
me  in  Granville  —  everything  to  make  me  hurry  away, 
if  I  had  weakened  and  temporized  with  you  it  would  only 
mean  the  deferring  of  just  what  has  happened.  When 
you  declared  yourself  flatly  and  repeatedly  it  seemed 
hopeless  to  argue  further.  I  am  a  poor  pleader,  per 
haps;  and  I  do  not  believe  in  compulsion  between  us. 
Whatever  you  do  you  must  do  of  your  own  volition, 
without  pressure  from  me.  We  couldn't  be  happy 


A   LETTER   FROM   BILL  311 

otherwise.  If  I  compelled  you  to  follow  me  against 
your  desire  we  should  only  drag  misery  in  our  train. 

I  couldn't  even  say  good-by.  I  didn't  want  it  to  be 
good-by.  I  didn't  know  if  I  could  stick  to  my  deter 
mination  to  go  unless  I  went  as  I  did.  And  my  reason 
told  me  that  if  there  must  be  a  break  it  would  better 
pome  now  than  after  long-drawn-out  bickerings  and  bit 
terness.  If  we  are  so  diametrically  opposed  where  we 
thought  we  stood  together  we  have  made  a  mistake  that 
no  amount  of  adjusting,  nothing  but  separate  roads, 
will  rectify.  Myself  I  refuse  to  believe  that  we  have 
made  such  a  mistake.  I  don't  think  that  honestly  and 
deliberately  you  prefer  an  exotic,  useless,  purposeless, 
parasitic  existence  to  the  normal,  wholesome  life  we  hap 
pily  planned.  But  you  are  obsessed,  intoxicated  —  I 
can't  put  it  any  better  —  and  nothing  but  a  shock  will 
sober  you.  If  I'm  wrong,  if  love  and  Bill's  companion 
ship  can't  lure  you  away  from  these  other  things  — 
why,  I  suppose  you  will  consider  it  an  ended  chapter. 
In  that  case  you  will  not  suffer.  The  situation  as  it 
stands  will  be  a  relief  to  you.  If,  on  the  other  hand, 
it's  merely  a  stubborn  streak,  that  won't  let  you  admit 
that  you've  carried  your  proud  little  head  on  an  over- 
Btiff  neck,  do  you  think  it's  worth  the  price?  I  don't. 

I'm  not  scolding,  little  person.  I'm  sick  and  sore  at 
the  pass  we've  come  to.  No  damn-fool  pride  can  close 
my  eyes  to  the  fact  or  keep  me  from  admitting  freely  that 
I  love  you  just  as  much  and  want  you  as  longingly  as 
I  did  the  day  I  put  you  aboard  the  Stanley  D.  at  Bella 
Coola.  I  thought  you  were  stepping  gladly  out  of  my 
life  then.  And  I  let  you  go  freely  and  without  any- 


#2  NORTH   OF   FIFTY-THREE 

thing  but  a  dumb  protest  against  fate,  because  it  wafe 
your  wish.  I  can  step  out  of  your  life  again  —  if  it 
is  your  wish.  But  I  can't  imprison  myself  in  your 
cities.  I  can't  pretend,  even  for  your  sake,  to  play  the 
game  they  call  business.  I'm  neither  an  idler  nor  can 
I  become  a  legalized  buccaneer.  I  have  nothing  but 
contempt  for  those  who  are.  Mind  you,  this  is  not  so 
sweeping  a  statement  as  it  sounds.  No  one  has  a 
keener  appreciation  of  what  civilization  means  than  I. 
Out  of  it  has  arisen  culture  and  knowledge,  much  of 
what  should  make  the  world  a  better  place  for  us  all. 
But  somehow  this  doesn't  apply  to  the  mass,  and  par 
ticularly  not  to  the  circles  we  invaded  in  Granville. 
With  here  and  there  a  solitary  exception  that  class  is 
hopeless  in  its  smug  self-satisfaction  —  its  narrowness 
of  outlook,  and  unblushing  exploitation  of  the  less  for 
tunate,  repels  me. 

And  to  dabble  my  hands  in  their  muck,  to  settle  down 
and  live  my  life  according  to  their  bourgeois  standards, 
to  have  grossness  of  soft  flesh  replace  able  sinews,  to 
submerge  mentality  in  favor  of  a  specious  craftiness  of 
mind  which  passes  in  the  "  city  "  for  brains  —  well,  I'm 
on  the  road.  And,  oh,  girl,  girl,  I  wish  you  were  with 
me. 

I  must  explain  this  mining  deal  —  that  phase  of  it 
which  sent  me  on  the  rampage  in  Granville.  I  should 
have  done  so  before,  should  have  insisted  on  making  it 
clear  to  you.  But  a  fellow  doesn't  always  do  the  proper 
thing  at  the  proper  time.  All  too  frequently  we  are 
dominated  by  our  emotions  rather  than  by  our  judgment. 
It  was  so  with  me.  The  other  side  had  been  presented 


A   LETTER   FROM   BILL  313 

to  you  rather  cleverly  at  the  right  time.  And  your 
ready  acceptance  of  it  angered  me  beyond  bounds. 
You  were  prejudiced.  It  stirred  me  to  a  perfect  fury 
to  think  you  couldn't  be  absolutely  loyal  to  your  pal. 
When  you  took  that  position  I  simply  couldn't  attempt 
explanations.  Do  you  think  I'd  ever  have  taken  the 
other  fellow's  side  against  you,  right  or  wrong? 

Anyway,  here  it  is :  You  got  the  essentials,  up  to 
a  certain  point,  from  Brooks.  But  he  didn't  tell  it  all 
—  his  kind  never  does,  not  by  a  long  shot.  They,  the 
four  of  them,  it  seems,  held  a  meeting  as  soon  as  I 
shipped  out  that  gold  and  put  through  that  stock-sell 
ing  scheme.  That  was  legitimate.  I  couldn't  restrain 
them  from  that,  being  a  hopeless  minority  of  one. 
Their  chief  object,  however,  was  to  let  two  or  three 
friends  in  on  the  ground  floor  of  a  good  thing;  also, 
they  wanted  each  a  good  bundle  of  that  stock  while  it 
was  cheap  —  figuring  that  with  the  prospects  I  had 
opened  up  it  would  sell  high.  So  they  had  it  on  the 
market,  and  in  addition  had  everything  framed  up  to  re 
organize  with  a  capitalization  of  two  hundred  and  fifty 
thousand  dollars.  This  all  cut  and  dried  before  I  got 
there.  Now,  as  it  originally  stood,  the  five  of  us  would 
each  have  made  a  small  fortune  on  these  Klappan  claims. 
They're  good.  But  with  a  quarter  of  a  million  in  out 
standing  stock  —  well,  it  would  be  all  right  for  the 
fellow  with  a  big  block.  But  you  can  see  where  I  would 
get  off  with  a  five-thousand-dollar  interest.  To  be  sure, 
a  certain  proportion  of  the  money  derived  from  the  sale 
of  this  stock  should  be  mine.  But  it  goes  into  the  treas 
ury,  and  they  had  it  arranged  to  keep  it  in  the  treas- 


314  NORTH    OF    FIFTY-THREE 

ury,  as  a  fund  for  operations,  with  them  doing  the 
operating.  They  had  already  indicated  their  bent  by 
voting  an  annual  stipend  of  ten  thousand  and  six  thou 
sand  dollars  to  Lorimer  and  Brooks  as  president  and 
secretary  respectively.  Me,  they  proposed  to  quiet 
with  a  manager's  wage  of  a  mere  five  thousand  a  year 
—  after  1  got  on  the  ground  and  began  to  get  my  back 
up. 

Free  Gold  would  have  been  a  splendid  Stock  Ex 
change  possibility.  They  had  it  all  doped  out  how 
they  could  make  sundry  clean-ups  irrespective  of  the 
mine's  actual  product.  That  was  the  first  thing  that 
made  me  dubious.  They  were  stock-market  gamblers, 
manipulators  pure  and  simple.  But  I  might  have  let 
it  go  at  that,  seeing  it  was  their  game  and  not  one  that 
I  or  anybody  I  cared  about  would  get  fleeced  at.  I 
didn't  approve  of  it,  you  understand.  It  was  thei? 
game. 

But  they  capped  the  climax  with  what  I  must  cold 
bloodedly  characterize  as  the  baldest  attempt  at  a 
dirty  fraud  I  ever  encountered.  And  they  had  the  gall 
to  try  and  make  me  a  party  to  it.  To  make  this  clear 
you  must  understand  that  I,  on  behalf  of  the  company 
and  acting  as  the  company's  agent,  grubstaked  Whitey 
Lewis  and  four  others  to  go  in  and  stake  those  claims. 
I  was  empowered  to  arrange  with  these  five  men  that 
if  the  claims  made  a  decent  showing  each  should  re 
ceive  five  thousand  dollars  in  stock  for  assigning  their 
claims  to  the  company,  and  should  have  employment  at 
top  wages  while  the  claims  were  operated. 

They  surely  earned  it.     You  know  what  the  North 


A   LETTER   FROM   BILE  315 

2s  in  the  Head  of  winter.  They  bucked  their  way 
through  a  hell  of  frost  and  snow  and  staked  the  claims. 
If  ever  men  were  entitled  to  what  was  due  them,  they 
were.  [And  not  one  of  them  stuttered  over  his  bargain, 
even  though  they  were  taking  out  weekly  as  much 
gold  as  they  were  to  get  for  their  full  share.  They'd 
given  their  word,  and  they  were  white  men.  They 
took  me  for  a  white  man  also.  They  took  my 
word  that  they  would  get  what  was  coming  to  them, 
and  gave  me  in  the  company's  name  clear  title  to  every 
claim.  I  put  those  titles  on  record  in  Hazleton,  and 
came  home. 

Lorimer  and  Brooks  deliberately  proposed  to  with 
hold  that  stock,  to  defraud  these  men,  to  steal  —  oh,  I 
can't  find  words  strong  enough.  They  wanted  to  let 
the  matter  stand;  wanted  me  to  let  it  be  adjusted  later; 
anything  to  serve  as  an  excuse  for  delay.  Brooks 
said  to  me,  with  a  grin :  **  The  property's  in  the  com 
pany's  name  —  let  the  roughnecks  sweat  a  while. 
They've  got  no  come-back,  anyhow." 

That  was  when  I  smashed  him.  Do  you  blame  me? 
I'd  taken  over  those  fellows'  claims  in  good  faith. 
Could  I  go  back  there  and  face  those  men  and  say: 
'*  Boys,  the  company's  got  your  claims,  and  they  won't 
pay  for  them."  Do  you  think  for  a  minute  I'd  let  a 
bunch  of  lily-fingered  crooks  put  anything  like  that 
over  on  simple,  square-dealing  fellows  who  were  too 
honest  to  protect  their  own  interests  from  sharp  prac 
tice?  A  quartet  of  soft-bodied  mongrels  who  sat  in 
upholstered  office  chairs  while  these  others  wallowed 
through  six  feet  of  snow  for  three  weeks,  living  on 


316  NORTH    OF    FIFTY-THREE 

bacon  and  beans,  to  grab  a  pot  of  gold  for  them!  It 
makes  my  fist  double  up  when  I  think  about  it. 

And  I  wouldn't  be  put  off  or  placated  by  a  chance 
to  fatten  my  own  bank  roll.  I  didn't  care  if  I  broke 
jhe  Free  Gold  Mining  Company  and  myself  likewise. 
A  dollar  doesn't  terrify  nor  yet  fascinate  me  —  I  hope 
it  never  will.  And  while,  perhaps,  it  was  not  what  they 
would  call  good  form  for  me  to  lose  my  temper  and  go 
at  them  with  my  fists,  I  was  fighting  mad  when  I  thor 
oughly  sensed  their  dirty  project.  Anyway,  it  helped 
bring  them  to  time.  When  you  take  a  man  of  that 
type  and  cuff  him  around  with  your  two  hands  he's  apt 
to  listen  serious  to  what  you  say.  And  they  listened 
when  I  told  them  in  dead  earnest  next  day  that  Whitey 
Lewis  and  his  partners  must  have  what  was  due  them, 
or  I'd  wreck  the  bunch  of  them  if  it  took  ten  years  and 
every  dollar  I  had  to  do  it.  And  I  could  have  put  them 
on  the  tramp,  too  —  they'd  already  dipped  their  fingers 
in  where  they  couldn't  stand  litigation.  I'm  sure  of 
that  —  or  they  would  never  have  come  through ;  which 
they  did. 

But  I'm  sorry  I  ever  got  mixed  up  with  them.  I'm 
going  to  sell  my  stock  and  advise  Lewis  and  the  others 
to  do  the  same  while  we  can  get  full  value  for  it.  Lori- 
Tner  and  that  bunch  will  manipulate  the  outfit  to  death, 
no  matter  how  the  mine  produces.  They'll  have  a  quar 
ter  of  a  million  to  work  on  pretty  soon,  and  they'll 
work  it  hard.  They're  shysters  —  but  it's  after  all 
only  a  practical  demonstration  of  the  ethics  of  the  type 
• — "  Do  everybody  you  can  —  if  you  can  do  'em  so 
there's  DO  come-back."  i 


A   LETTER   FROM   BILL  317 

That's  all  of  that.  I  don't  care  two  whoops  about 
the  money.  There  is  still  gold  in  the  Klappan  Range 
and  other  corners  of  the  North,  whenever  I  need  it. 
But  it  nauseated  me.  I  can't  stand  that  cutthroat 
game.  And  Granville,  like  most  other  cities  of  its  kind, 
lives  by  and  for  that  sort  of  thing.  The  pressure  of 
modern  life  makes  it  inevitable.  Anyway,  a  town  is  no 
place  for  me.  I  can  stomach  it  about  so  long,  and  no 
longer.  It's  too  cramped,  too  girded  about  with  petty- 
larceny  conventions.  If  once  you  slip  and  get  down, 
every  one  walks  on  you.  Everything's  restricted, 
priced,  tinkered  with.  There  is  no  real  freedom  of 
body  or  spirit.  I  wouldn't  traide  a  comfy  log  cabin  in 
the  woods  with  a  big  fireplace  and  a  shelf  of  books  for 
the  finest  home  on  Maple  Drive  —  not  if  I  had  to  stay 
there  and  stifle  in  the  dust  and  smoke  and  smells.  That 
would  be  a  sordid  and  impoverished  existence.  I  can 
not  live  by  the  dog-eat-dog  code  that  seems  to  prevail 
wherever  folk  get  jammed  together  in  an  unwieldy  so 
cial  mass. 

I  have  said  the  like  to  you  before.  By  nature  and 
training  I'm  unfitted  to  live  in  these  crowded  place*.  I 
love  you,  little  person,  I  don't  think  you  realize  how 
much,  but  I  can't  make  you  happy  by  making  myself 
utterly  miserable.  That  would  only  produce  the  in 
evitable  reaction.  But  I  still  think  you  are  essentially 
enough  like  me  to  meet  me  on  common  ground.  You 
loved  me  and  you  found  contentment  and  joy  at  our 
little  cabin  once.  Don't  you  think  it  might  be  waiting 
there  again? 
*  If  vou  really  care,  if  I  and  the  old  North  still  mean 


3i8          NORTH   OF   FIFTY-THREE 

anything  to  you,  a  few  days  or  weeks,  or  even  month, , 
of  separation  won't  matter.  An  affection  that  can't 
survive  six  months  is  too  fragile  to  go  through  life  on. 
I  don't  ask  you  to  jump  the  next  train  and  follow  me. 
I  don't  ask  you  to  wire  me,  "  Come  back,  Bill."  Though 
I  would  come  quick  enough  if  you  called  me.  I 
merely  want  you  to  think  it  over  soberly  and  let  your1 
heart  decide.  You  know  where  I  stand,  don't  you, 
HazeL,  dear?  I  haven't  changed  —  not  a  bit  —  I'm 
the  same  old  Bill.  But  I'd  rather  hit  the  trail  alone 
than  with  an  "^willing  partner.  Don't  flounder  about 
in  any  quicksand  of  duty.  There  is  no  "  I  ought  to  " 
between  us. 

So  it  is  up  to  you  once  more,  little  person.  If  my 
way  is  not  to  be  your  way  I  will  abide  by  your  de 
cision  without  whining.  And  whenever  you  want  to 
reach  me,  a  message  to  Felix  Courvoiseur,  Fort  George^ 
will  eventually  find  me.  I'll  fix  it  that  way. 

I  don't  know  what  I'll  do  after  I  make  that  Klappan 
trip.  I'm  too  restless  to  make  plans.  What's  the  use 
of  planning  when  there's  nobody  but  myself  to  plan 
for? 

So  long,  little  person.  I  like  you  a  heap,  for  all 
your  cantankerous  ways.  BILL.. 

She  laid  aside  the  letter,  with  a  lump  in  her  throat. 
For  a  brief  instant  she  was  minded  to  telegraph  the 
word  that  would  bring  him  hurrying  back.  But — i 
some  of  the  truths  he  had  set  down  in  cold  black  an3 
white  cut  her  deep.  Of  a  surety  she  had  drawn  her 
weapon  on  the  wrong  side  in  the  mining  trouble.  Over- 


A   LETTER   FROM   BILL  319 

hasty?  —  yes.  And  shamefully  disloyal.  Perhaps 
there  was  something  in  it,  after  all;  that  is  to  say,  it 
might  be  they  had  made  a  mistake.  She  saw  plainly 
enough  that  unless  she  could  get  back  some  of  the  olc? 
enthusiasm  for  that  wilderness  life,  unless  the  fascina 
tion  of  magnificent  distances,  of  silent,  breathless  for 
ests,  of  contented,  quiet  days  on  trail  and  stream,  could 
lay  fast  hold  of  her  again,  they  would  only  defer  the 
day  of  reckoning,  as  Bill  had  said. 

And  she  was  not  prepared  to  go  that  far.  She  still 
harbored  a  smoldering  grudge  against  him  for  his  vol 
canic  outburst  in  Granville,  and  too  precipitate  depar 
ture.  He  had  given  her  no  time  to  think,  to  make  a 
choice.  The  flesh-pots  still  seemed  wholly  desirable  — 
or,  rather,  she  shrank  from  the  alternative.  When  she 
visualized  the  North  it  uprose  always  in  its  most  threat 
ening  presentment,  indescribably  lonely,  the  playground 
of  ruthless,  elemental  forces,  terrifying  in  its  vast 
emptinesses.  It  appalled  her  in  retrospect,  loomed  un 
utterably  desolate  in  contrast  to  her  present  surround 
ings. 

No,  she  would  not  attempt  to  call  him  back.  She 
doubted  if  he  would  come.  And  she  would  not  go  — 
not  yet.  She  must  have  time  to  think. 

One  thing  pricked  her  sorely.  She  could  not  rec 
oncile  the  roguery  of  Brooks  and  Lorimer  with  the  men 
as  she  knew  them.  Not  that  she  doubted  Bill's  word. 
But  there  must  be  a  mistake  somewhere.  Ruthless  com 
petition  in  business  she  knew  and  understood.  Only  the 
fit  survived  —  just  as  in  her  husband's  chosen  field  only 
the  peculiarly  fit  could  hope  to  survive.  But  she  rather 


320  NORTH    OF   FIFTY-THREE 

resented  the  idea  that  pleasant,  well-bred  people  could 
be  guilty  of  coarse,  forthright  fraud.  Surely  not ! 

Altogether,  as  the  first  impression  of  Bill's  letter 
grew  less  vivid  to  her  she  considered  her  grievances 
more.  And  she  was  minded  to  act  as  she  had  set  out 
to  do  — -to  live  her  life  as  seemed  best  to  her,  rather, 
than  pocket  her  pride  and  rejoin  Bill.  The  feminine 
instinct  to  compel  the  man  to  capitulate  asserted  itself 
more  and  more  strongly. 

Wherefore,  she  dressed  carefully  and  prepared  to 
meet  a  luncheon  engagement  which  she  recalled  as  be 
ing  down  for  that  day.  No  matter  that  her  head  ached 
woefully.  Thought  maddened  her.  She  required  dis 
traction,  craved  change.  The  chatter  over  the  tea 
cups,  the  cheerful  nonsense  of  that  pleasure-seeking 
crowd  might  be  a  tonic.  Anything  was  better  thai:  t-* 
sit  at  home  and  brood. 


CHAPTER 

THE    SPUE 

» 

A  month  passed. 

During  that  thirty-day  period  she  received  a  brief1 
note  from  Bill.  Just  a  few  lines  to  say: 

Hit  the  ranch  yesterday,  little  person.  Looks  good 
to  me.  Have  had  Lauer  do  some  work  on  it  this  sum 
mer.  Went  fishing  last  night  about  sundown.  Trout 
were  rising  fine.  Nailed  a  two-pounder.  He  jumped 
a  foot  dear  of  the  water  after  my  fly,  and  gave  me  a 
hot  time  for  about  ten  minutes.  Woke  up  this  morn 
ing  at  daylight  and  found  a  buck  deer  with  two  lady 
friends  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  clearing.  I  loafed 
a  fews  days  in  Fort  George,  sort  of  thinking  I  might 
hear  from  you.  Am  sending  this  out  by  Jake.  Will 
start  for  the  Klappan  about  day  after  to-morrow. 

She  had  not  answered  his  first  letter.  She  had  tried 
to.  But  somehow  when  she  tried  to  set  pen  to  paper 
the  right  words  would  not  come.  She  lacked  his  fa 
cility  of  expression.  There  was  so  much  she  wanted  to 
say,  so  little  she  seemed  able  to  say.  As  the  days 
passed  she  felt  less  sure  of  her  ground,  less  sure  that 
she  had  not  sacrificed  something  precious  to  a  vagary 
of  self,  an  obsession  of  her  own  ego. 


322  NORTH    OF    FIFTY-THREE 

Many  things  took  on  a  different  complexion  now  that 
fhe  stood  alone.  No  concrete  evidence  of  change  stood 
forth  preeminent.  It  was  largely  subjective,  atmos 
pheric,  intangible  impressions. 

Always  with  a  heart  sinking  she  came  back  to  the 
empty  apartment,  knowing  that  it  would  be  empty, 
During  Bill's  transient  absence  of  the  spring  she  had 
missed  him  scarcely  at  all.  She  could  not  say  that 
now. 

And  slowly  but  surely  she  began  to  view  all  her  ac 
tivities  of  her  circle  with  a  critical  eye.  She  was 
brought  to  this  partly  in  self-defense.  Certain  of  her 
friends  had  become  tentative  enemies.  Kitty  Brooks 
and  the  Bray  womenfolk,  who  were  a  numerous  and  in 
fluential  tribe,  not  only  turned  silent  faces  when  they 
met,  but  they  made  war  on  her  in  the  peculiar  fashion 
of  women.  A  word  here,  a  suggestive  phrase  there,  a 
shrug  of  the  shoulders.  It  all  bore  fruit.  Other 
friends  conveyed  the  avid  gossip.  Hazel  smiled  and  ig 
nored  it.  But  in  her  own  rooms  she  raged  unavail- 


Her  husband  had  left  her.  There  was  a  man  in  the 
case.  They  had  lost  everything.  The  first  count  was 
sufficiently  maddening  because  it  was  a  half  truth. 
And  any  of  it  was  irritating  —  even  if  few  believed  — 
since  it  made  a  choice  morsel  to  digest  in  gossipy  cor 
ners,  and  brought  sundry  curious  stares  on  Hazel  at 
certain  times.  Also  Mr.  Wagstaff  had  caused  the 
stockholders  of  Free  Gold  a  heavy  loss  —  which  was 
only  offset  by  the  fact  that  the  Free  Gold  properties 
were  producing  richly.  None  of  this  was  even  openly 


THE   SPUR  323 

flung  at  her.  She  gathered  it  piecemeal.  And  it  galled 
her.  She  could  not  openly  defend  either  Bill  or  her 
self  against  the  shadowy  scandalmongers. 

Slowly  it  dawned  upon  her,  with  a  bitterness  born 
of  her  former  experience  with  Granville,  that  she  had 
lost  something  of  the  standing  that  certain  circles  had 
accorded  her  as  the  wife  of  a  successful  mining  man. 
It  made  her  ponder.  Was  Bill  so  far  wrong,  after  all, 
in  his  estimate  of  them?  It  was  a  disheartening  con 
clusion.  She  had  come  of  a  family  that  stood  well  in 
Granville;  she  had  grown  up  there;  if  life-time  friends 
blew  hot  and  cold  like  that,  was  the  game  worth  play 
ing? 

In  so  far  as  she  could  she  gave  the  lie  to  some  of  the 
petty  gossip.  Whereas  at  first  she  had  looked  du 
biously  on  spending  Bill's  money  to  maintain  the  stand 
ard  of  living  they  had  set  up,  she  now  welcomed  that  de 
posit  of  five  thousand  dollars  as  a  means  to  demon 
strate  that  even  in  his  absence  he  stood  behind  her 
financially  —  which  she  began  to  perceive  counted  more 
than  anything  else.  So  long  as  she  could  dress  in  the 
best,  while  she  could  ride  where  others  walked,  so  long 
as  she  betrayed  no  limitation  of  resources,  the  doors 
stood  wide.  Not  what  you  are,  but  what  you've  got  — 
she  remembered  Bill  saying  that  was  their  holiest  creed. 

It  repelled  her.  And  sometimes  she  was  tempted  to 
sit  down  and  pour  it  all  out  in  a  letter  to  him.  But 
she  could  not  quite  bring  herself  to  the  point.  Always 
behind  Bill  loomed  the  vast  and  dreary  Northland,  and 
she  shrank  from  that. 

On  top  of  this,  she  began  to  suffer  a  queer  upset 


324  NORTH    OP   FIFTY-THREE 

of  her  physical  condition.  All  her  life  she  had  been 
splendidly  healthy;  her  body  a  perfect-working  ma 
chine,  afflicted  with  no  weaknesses.  Now  odd  spas 
modic  pains  recurred  without  rhyme  or  reason  in  her 
head,  her  back,  her  limbs,  striking  her  with  sudden 
poignancy,  disappearing  as  suddenly. 

She  was  stretched  on  the  lounge  one  afternoon  wres 
tling  nervously  with  a  particularly  acute  attack,  when 
Vesta  Lorimer  was  ushered  in. 

"  You're  almost  a  stranger,"  Hazel  remarked,  after 
the  first  greetings.  "  Your  outing  must  have  been  pleas 
ant,  to  hold  you  so  long." 

"  It  would  have  held  me  longer,"  Vesta  returned,  "  if 
I  didn't  have  to  be  in  touch  with  my  market.  I  could 
live  quite  happily  on  my  island  eight  months  in  the  year. 
But  one  can't  get  people  to  come  several  hundred  miles 
to  a  sitting.  And  I  feel  inclined  to  acquire  a  living 
income  while  my  vogue  lasts." 

"  You're  rather  -a  wilderness  lover,  aren't  you ?  " 
Hazel  commented.  "  I  don't  think  you'd  love  it  as 
dearly  if  you  were  buried  alive  in  it." 

"  That  would  all  depend  on  the  circumstances," 
Vesta  replied.  "  One  escapes  many  disheartening 
things  in  a  country  that  is  still  comparatively  prim 
itive.  The  continual  grind  of  keeping  one's  end  up 
in  town  gets  terribly  wearisome.  I'm  always  glad  to 
go  to  the  woods,  and  sorry  when  I  have  to  leave.  But 
I  suppose  it's  largely  in  one's  point  of  view." 

They  chatted  of  sundry  matters  for  a  few  minutes. 

"  By  the  way,  is  there  any  truth  in  the  statement 
that  this  Free  Gold  row  has  created  trouble  between 


THE    SPUR  325 

you  and  your  husband?  "  Vesta  asked  abruptly.  "  I 
dare  say  it's  quite  an  impertinent  question,  and  you'd 
be  well  within  your  rights  to  tell  me  it's  none  of  my  busi 
ness.  But  I  should  like  to  confound  some  of  these  petty 
tattlers.  I  haven't  been  home  forty-eight  hours ;  yet 
I've  heard  tongues  wagging.  I  hope  there's  nothing1  in 
it.  I  warned  Mr.  Wagstaff  against  Paul." 

61  Warned  him?  Why?  "  Hazel  neglected  the  ques 
tion  entirely.  The  bluntness  of  it  took  her  by  sur 
prise.  Frank  speech  was  not  a  characteristic  of  Vesta 
Lo  rimer's  set. 

The  girl  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"  He  is  my  brother,  but  that  doesn't  veil  my  eyes," 
she  said  coolly.  "  Paul  is  too  crooked  to  lie  straight 
in  bed.  I'm  glad  Mr.  Wagstaff  brought  the  lot  of  them 
up  with  a  round  turn  —  which  he  seems  to  have  done. 
If  he  had  used  a  club  instead  of  his  fists  it  would  have 
been  only  their  deserts.  I  suppose  the  fuss  quite  upset 
you?"  " 

"  It  did,"  Hazel  admitted  grudgingly.  "  It  did  more 
than  upset  me." 

"  I  thought  as  much,"  Vesta  said  slowly.  "  It  made 
you  inflict  an  undeserved  hurt  on  a  man  who  should 
have  had  better  treatment  at  your  hands;  not  only  be 
cause  he  loves  you,  but  because  he  is  one  of  the  few  men 
svho  deserve  the  best  that  you  or  any  woman  can  give," 

Hazel  straightened  up  angrily. 

"  Where  do  you  get  your  astonishing  information, 
pray  ?  "  she  asked  hotly.  "  And  where  do  you  get  your 
authority  to  say  such  things  to  me?  " 

Vesta  tucked  back  a  vagrant  strand  of  her  tawny 


326  NORTH    OF   FIFTY-THREE 

hair.  Her  blue  eyes  snapped,  and  a  red  spot  glowed 
on  each  smooth,  fair  cheek. 

"  I  don't  get  it ;  I'm  taking  it,"  she  flung  back.  "  I 
have  eyes  and  ears,  and  I  have  used  them  for  months. 
Since  you  inquire,  I  happened  to  be  going  over  the  Lake 
Division  on  the  same  train  that  carried  your  husband 
back  to  the  North.  You  can't  knife  a  man  without 
him  bearing  the  marks  of  it ;  and  I  learned  in  part  why 
he  was  going  back  alone.  The  rest  I  guessed,  by  put 
ting  two  and  two  together.  You're  a  silly,  selfish, 
shortsighted  little  fool,  if  my  opinion  is  worth  having." 

"  You've  said  quite  enough,"  Hazel  cried.  "  If  you 
have  any  more  insults,  please  get  rid  of  them  elsewhere. 
I  think  you  are  — " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  care  what  you  think  of  me,"  the  girl 
interrupted  recklessly.  "  If  I  did  I  wouldn't  be  here. 
I'd  hide  behind  the  conventional  rules  of  the  game  and 
let  you  blunder  along.  But  I  can't.  I'm  not  gifted 
with  your  blind  egotism.  Whatever  you  are,  that  Bill 
of  yours  loves  you,  and  if  you  care  anything  for  him, 
you  should  be  with  him.  I  would,  if  I  were  lucky  enough 
to  stand  in  your  shoes.  I'd  go  with  him  down  into  hell 
itself  gladly  if  he  wanteii  me  to ! " 

"  Oh!  "  Hazel  gasped.     "  Are  you  clean  mad?  " 

"  Shocked  to  death,  aren't  you? "  Vesta  fleered. 
"  You  can't  understand,  can  you  ?  I  love  him  —  yes. 
I'm  not  ashamed  to  own  it.  I'm  no  sentimental  prude 
to  throw  up  my  hands  in  horror  at  a  perfectly  natural 
emotion.  But  he  is  not  for  me.  I  dare  say  I  couldn't 
give  him  an  added  heartbeat  if  I  tried.  And  I  have  a 
little  too  much  pride  —  strange  as  it  may  seem  to  you 


THE    SPUR  327 

—  to  try,  so  long  as  he  is  chained  hand  and  foot  to  you* 
chariot.  But  you're  making  him  suffer.  And  I  care 
enough  to  want  him  to  live  all  his  days  happily.  He  is 
a  man,  and  there  are  so  few  of  them,  real  men.  If  you 
can  make  him  happy  I'd  compel  you  to  do  so,  if  I  had 
the  power.  You  couldn't  understand  that  kind  of  a 
love.  Oh,  I  could  choke  you  for  your  stupid  disloy 
alty.  I  could  do  almost  anything  that  would  spur  you 
to  action.  I  can't  rid  myself  of  the  hopeless,  reckless 
mood  he  was  in.  There  are  so  few  of  his  kind,  the  pa 
tient,  strong,  loyal,  square-dealing  men,  with  a  woman's 
tenderness  and  a  lion's  courage.  Any  woman  should 
be  proud  and  glad  to  be  his  mate,  to  mother  his  chil 
dren.  And  you  — " 

She  threw  out  her  hands  with  a  sudden,  despairing 
gesture.  The  blue  eyes  grew  misty,  and  she  hid  her 
face  in  her  palms.  Before  that  passionate  outburst 
Hazel  sat  dumbly  amazed,  staring,  uncertain.  In  a  sec 
ond  Vesta  lifted  her  head  defiantly. 

"  I  had  no  notion  of  breaking  out  like  this  when  I 
came  up,"  she  said  quietly.  "  I  was  going  to  be  very 
adroit.  I  intended  to  give  you  a  friendly  boost  along 
the  right  road,  if  I  could.  But  it  has  all  been  bub 
bling  inside  me  for  a  long  time.  You  perhaps  think  it 
very  unwomanly  —  but  I  don't  care  much  what  you 
think.  My  little  heartache  is  incidental,  one  of  the 
things  life  deals  us  whether  we  will  or  not.  But  if  you 
care  in  the  least  for  your  husband,  for  God's  sake 
make  some  effort,  some  sacrifice  of  your  own  petty  little 
desires,  to  make  his  road  a  little  pleasanter,  a  little 
less  gray  than  it  must  be  now.  You'll  be  well  repaid 


328  NORTH    OF    FIFTY-THREE 

• —  if  you  are  the  kind  that  must  always  be  paid  in  fulL 
Don't  be  a  stiff-necked  idiot.  That's  all  I  wanted  to 
say.  Good-by ! " 

She  was  at  the  door  when  she  finished.  The  click 
of  the  closing  catch  stirred  Hazel  to  speech  and  ac 
tion. 

"  Vesta,  Vesta ! "  she  cried,  and  ran  out  into  the 
corridor. 

But  Vesta  Lorimer  neither  heeded  nor  halted.  And 
Hazel  went  back  to  her  room,  quivering.  Sometimes 
the  truth  is  bitter  and  stirs  to  wrath.  And  mingled 
with  other  emotions  was  a  dull  pang  of  jealousy  —  the 
first  she  had  ever  known.  For  Vesta  Lorimer  was  beau 
tiful  beyond  most  women ;  and  she  had  but  given  ample 
evidence  of  the  bigness  of  her  soul.  With  shamed  tears 
creeping  to  her  eyes,  Hazel  wondered  if  she  could  love 
even  Bill  so  intensely  that  she  would  drive  another 
woman  to  his  arms  that  he  might  win  happiness. 

But  one  tiling  stood  out  clear  above  that  painful  meet 
ing.  She  was  done  fighting  against  the  blankness  that 
seemed  to  surround  her  since  Bill  went  away.  Slowly 
but  steadily  it  had  been  forced  upon  her  that  much 
which  she  deemed  desirable,  even  necessary,  was  of  little 
weight  in  the  balance  with  him.  Day  and  night  she 
longed  for  him,  for  his  cheery  voice,  the  whimsical  good 
humor  of  him,  his  kiss  and  his  smile.  Indubitably  Vesta 
Lorimer  was  right  to  term  her  a  stiff-necked,  selfish 
fool.  But  if  aU  folk  were  saturated  with  the  essence 
of  wisdom  —  well,  there  was  but  one  thing  to  be  done. 
Silly  pride  had  to  go  by  the  board.  If  to  face  gayly 
a  land  she  dreaded  were  the  price  of  easing  his  heart- 


THE    SPUR  329 

ache  —  and  her  own  —  that  price  she  would  pay,  and 
pay  with  a  grace  but  lately  learned. 

She  lay  down  on  the  lounge  again.  The  old  pains 
were  back.  And  as  she  endured,  a  sudden  startling 
thought  flashed  across  her  mind.  A  possibility?  —  yes. 
She  hurried  to  dress,  wondering  why  it  had  not  before 
occurred  to  her,  and,  phoning  up  a  taxi,  rolled  down 
town  to  the  office  of  Doctor  Hart.  An  hour  or  so  later 
she  returned.  A  picture  of  her  man  stood  on  the  man 
tel.  She  took  it  down  and  stared  at  it  with  a  tremu 
lous  smile. 

"  Oh,  Billy-boy,  Billy-boy,  I  wish  you  knew,"  she 
whispered.  "  But  I  was  coming,  anyway,  Bill !  " 

That  evening,  stirring  about  her  preparations  for 
the  journey,  she  paused,  and  wondered  why,  for  the 
first  time  since  Bill  left,  she  felt  so  utterly  at  peace. 


CHAPTER  XXXIH 

HOME    AGAIN 

Twelve  months  works  many  a  change  on  a  changing- 
frontier.  Hazel  found  this  so.  When  she  came  to 
plan  her  route  she  found  the  G.  T.  P.  bridging  the  last 
gap  in  a  transcontinental  system,  Us  trains  westbound 
already  within  striking  distance  of  Fort  George.  She 
could  board  a  sleeping  car  at  Granville  and  detrain 
within  a  hundred  miles  of  the  ancient  trading  post  — 
•with  a  fast  river  boat  to  carry  her  the  remaining  dis 
tance. 

Fort  George  loomed  up  a  jumbled  area  of  houses  and 
tents,  log  buildings,  frame  structures  yellow  in  their 
newness,  strangers  to  paint  as  yet.  On  every  hand 
others  stood  in  varying  stages  of  erection.  Folks  hur 
ried  about  the  sturdy  beginning  of  a  future  greatness. 
And  as  she  left  the  boat  and  followed  a  new-laid  walk 
of  planks  toward  a  hotel,  Jake  Lauer  stepped  out  of  a 
store,  squarely  into  her  path. 

His   round  face  lit  up  with  a  smile  of  recognition 
And  Hazel,  fresh  from  the  long  and  lonesome  journey., 
was  equally  glad  to  set  eyes  on  a  familiar,  a  genuinely 
friendly  face. 

"  I  am  pleased  to  welgome  you  back  to  Gott's  coun 
try,  Mrs.  Vagstaff,"  he  said.  "  Und  let  me  carry  dot 
suid  case  alretty." 


.HOME  AGAIN  331 

They  walked  two  blocks  to  the  King's  Hotel,  where 
Lauer's  family  was  housed.  He  was  in  for  supplies, 
he  told  her,  aod,  of  course,  his  wife  and  children  ac 
companied  him. 

**  Not  dat  Gredda  iss  afraid.  She  iss  so  goot  a  man 
as  I  on  der  ranch  ven  I  am  gone,"  he  explained.  "  But  j 
for  dem  it  iss  a  change.  Und  I  bring  by  der  town  a 
yaigonloat  off  bodadoes.  By  cosh,  dem  bodadoes  iss 
sell  high." 

It  flashed  into  Hazel's  mind  that  here  was  a  Heaven 
sent  opportunity  to  reach  the  cabin  without  facing  that 
hundred  miles  in  the  company  of  chance-hired  strangers. 
But  she  did  not  broach  the  subject  at  once.  Instead!, 
she  asked  eagerly  of  Bill.  Lauer  told  her  that  Bill 
had  tarried  a  few  days  at  the  cabin,  and  then  struck 
out  alone  for  the  mines.  And  he  had  not  said  when  he 
would  be  back. 

Mrs.  Lauer,  unchanged  from  a  year  earlier,  welcomed 
her  with  pleased  friendliness.  And  Jake  left  the  two 
of  them  and  the  chubby  kiddies  in  the  King's  office  while 
he  betook  himself  about  his  business.  Hazel  haled  his 
wife  and  the  children  to  her  room  as  soon  as  one  was 
assigned  to  her.  And  there,  almost  before  she  knew 
it,  she  was  murmuring  brokenly  her  story  into  an  ear 
that  listened  with  sympathy  and  understanding.  Only 
a  woman  can  grasp  some  of  a  woman's  needs.  Gretta 
Lauer  patted  Hazel's  shoulder  with  a  motherly  hand, 
and  bade  her  cheer  up. 

"  Home's  the  place  for  you,  dear,"  she  said  smilingly. 
"  You  just  come  right  along  with  us.  Your  man  will 
oome  quick  enough  when  he  gets  word.  And  we'll  take 


332          NORTH   OF   FIFTY-THREE 

good  care  of  you  in  the  meantime.  La,  I'm  all  excited 
over  it.  It's  the  finest  thing  could  happen  for  you  both. 
Take  it  from  me,  dearie.  I  know.  We've  had  our 
troubles,  Jake  and  I.  And,  seeing  I'm  only  six  months 
short  of  being  a  graduate  nurse,  you  needn't  fear. 
Well,  well!" 

"  I'll  need  to  have  food  hauled  in,"  Hazel  reflected. 
"  And  some  things  I  brought  with  me.  I  wish  Bill 
were  here.  I'm  afraid  I'll  be  a  lot  of  bother.  Won't 
you  be  heavily  loaded,  as  it  is  ?  " 

She  recalled  swiftly  the  odd,  makeshift  team  that 
Lauer  depended  on  —  the  mule,  lop-eared  and  solemn, 
"  und  Gretchen,  der  cow."  She  had  cash  and  drafts 
for  over  three  thousand  dollars  on  her  person.  She 
wondered  if  it  would  offend  the  sturdy  independence  of 
these  simple,  kindly  neighbors,  if  she  offered  to  supply 
a  four-horse  team  and  wagon  for  their  mutual  use? 
But  she  had  been  forestalled  there,  she  learned  in  the 
next  breath. 

"  Oh,  bother  nothing,"  Mrs.  Lauer  declared.  "  Why, 
we'd  be  ashamed  if  we  couldn't  help  a  little.  And  far's 
the  load  goes,  you  ought  to  see  the  four  beautiful  horses 
your  husband  let  Jake  have.  You  don't  know  how  much 
Jake  appreciates  it,  nor  what  a  fine  man  he  thinks  your 
husband  is.  We  needed  horses  so  bad,  and  didn't  have 
the  money  to  buy.  So  Mr.  Wagstaff  didn't  say  a 
thing  but  got  the  team  for  us,  and  Jake's  paying  for 
them  in  clearing  and  plowing  and  making  improvements 
on  your  land.  Honest,  they  could  pull  twice  the  load 
we'll  have.  There's  a  good  wagon  road  most  of  the 
way  now.  •  Quite  a  lot  of  settlers,  too,  as  much  as  fifty 


HOME   AGAIN  333 

or  sixty  miles  out.  And  we've  got  the  finest  garden 
you  ever  saw.  Vegetables  enough  to  feed  four  families 
all  winter.  Oh,  your  old  cities !  I  never  want  to  live 
in  one  again.  Never  a  day  have  the  kiddies  been  sick. 
Suppose  it  is  a  bit  out  of  the  world?  You're  all  the 
more  pleased  when,  somebody  does  happen  along. 
Folks  is  so  different  in  a  new  country  like  this.  There's 
plenty  for  everybody  —  and  everybody  helps,  like 
neighbors  ought  to." 

Lauer  came  up  after  a  time,  and  Hazel  found  her 
self  unequivocally  in  their  hands.  With  the  matter  of 
transporting  herself  and  supplies  thus  solved,  she  set 
out  to  find  Felix  Courvoiseur  —  who  would  know  how 
to  get  word  to  Bill.  He  might  come  back  to  the  cabin 
in  a  month  or  so ;  he  might  not  come  back  at  all  unless 
he  heard  from  her.  She  was  smitten  with  a  great  fear 
that  he  might  give  her  up  as  lost  to  him,  and  plunge 
deeper  into  the  wilderness  in  some  mood  of  recklessness. 
And  she  wanted  him,  longed  for  him,  if  only  so  that 
she  could  make  amends. 

She  easily  found  Courvoiseur,  a  tall,  spare  French 
man,  past  middle  age.  Yes,  he  could  deliver  a  message 
to  Bill  Wagstaff;  that  is,  he  could  send  a  man*  Bill 
IWagstaff  was  in  the  Klappan  Range. 

"But  if  he  should  have  left  there?"  Hazel  sug 
gested  uneasily. 

"  'E  weel  leave  weeth  W'itey  Lewees  word  of  w'ere 
?e  go,"  Courvoiseur  reassured  her.  "  An'  my  man, 
w*ich  ees  my  bruzzer-law,  w'ich  I  can  mos'  fully  trus% 
*e  weel  follow  'eem.  So  Beel  *e  ees  arrange.  'E  ees  say 
mos'  parteecular  if  madame  ees  come  or  weesh  for  for* 


334          NORTH   OF   FIFTY-THREE 

ward  message,  geet  heem  to  me  qneeck.     Out.     Long 
lam  Beel  ees  know  me.     I  am  for  depend  always." 

Courvoiseur  kept  a  trader's  stock  of  goods  in  a 
Weather-beaten  old  log  house  which  sprawled  a  hun- 
idred  feet  back  from  the  street.  Thirty  years,  he  told, 
her,  he  had  kept  that  store  in  Fort  George.  She 
guessed  that  Bill  had  selected  him  because  he  was  a  fix 
ture.  She  sat  down  at  his  counter  and  wrote  her  mes 
sage*  Just  a  few  terse  lines.  And  when  she  had  de 
livered  it  to  Courvoiseur  she  went  back  to  the  hotel. 
There  was  nothing  now  to  do  but  wait.  And  with  the 
message  under  way  she  found  herself  impatient  to  reach 
the  cabin,  to  spend  the  waiting  days  where  she  had  first 
found  happiness.  She  could  set  her  house  in  order 
against  her  man's  coming.  And  if  the  days  dragged, 
and  the  great,  lone  land  seemed  to  close  in-  and  press  in 
exorably  upon  her,  she  would  have  to  be  patient,  very 
patient, 

Jake  was  held  up,  waiting  for  supplies.  Fort  George 
suffered  a  sugar  famine.  Two  days  later,  the  belated 
freight  arrived.  He  loaded  his  wagon,  a  ton  of  goods 
for  himself,  a  like  weight  of  Hazel's  supplies  and  be 
longings.  A  goodly  load,  but  he  drove  out  of  Fort 
George  with  four  strapping  bays  arching  their  power 
ful  necks,  and  champing  on  the  bit. 

"Four  days  ve  vill  make  it  by  der  ranch,"  Jake 
chuckled.  "  Mit  der  mule  und  Gretchen,  Ber  cow,  von 
veek  it  take  me,  mit  half  der  loat." 

Four  altogether  pleasant  and  satisfying  days  they 
were  to  Hazel.  The  worst  of  the  fly  pests  were  van 
ished  for  the  season.  A  crisp  touch  of  frost  sharpened 


HOME  AGAIN  335 

the  night  winds.  Indian  summer  hung  its  mellow  haze 
over  the  land.  The  clean,  pungent  air  that  sifted 
through  the  forests  seemed  doubly  sweet  after  the  vi 
tiated  atmosphere  of  town.  Fresh  from  a  gridiron  of 
dusty  streets  and  stone  pavements,  and  but  stepped,  as 
one  might  say,  from  days  of  imprisonment  in  the  nar- 
l-ow  confines  of  a  railway  coach,  she  drank  the  winey 
air  in  hungry  gulps,  and  joyed  in  the  soft  yielding  of 
ti^e  turf  beneath  her  feet,  the  fern  and  pea-vine  carpet 
of  the  forest  floor. 

It  was  her  pleasure  at  night  to  sleep  as  she  and  Bill 
had  slept,  with  her  face  bared  to  the  stars.  She  would 
draw  her  bed  a  little  aside  from  the  camp  fire  and  from 
the  low  seclusion  of  a  thicket  lie  watching  the  nimble 
flames  at  their  merry  dance,  smiling  lazily  at  the  gro 
tesque  shadows  cast  by  Jake  and  his  frau  as  they  moved 
about  the  blaze.  And  she  would  wake  in  the  morning 
clear-headed,  alert,  grateful  for  the  pleasant  woodland 
smells  arising  wholesomely  from  the  fecund  bosom  of 
the  earth. 

Lauer  pulled  up  before  his  own  cabin  at  mid-after 
noon  of  the  fourth  day,  unloaded  his  own  stuff,  and 
drove  to  his  neighbor's  with  the  rest. 

"  111  walk  back  after  a  little,"  Hazel  told  him,  when 
he  had  piled  her  goods  in  one  corner  of  the  kitchen. 

The  rattle  of  the  wagon  died  away.  She  was  alone 
— -at  home.  Her  eyes  filled  as  she  roved  restlessly 
*rom  kitchen  to  living-room  and  on  into  the  bedroom  at 
the  end.  Bill  had  unpacked.  The  rugs  were  down,  the 
books  stowed  in  familiar  disarray  upon  their  shelves, 
the  bedding  spread  in  semi-disorder  where  he  had  last 


336          NORTH   OF   FIFTY-THREE 

slept  and  gone  away  without  troubling  to  smooth  it 
out  in  housewifely  fashion. 

She  came  back  to  the  living-room  and  seated  herself 
in  the  big  chair.  She  had  expected  to  be  lonely,  very 
lonely.  But  she  was  not.  Perhaps  that  would  come 
later.  For  the  present  it  seemed  as  if  she  had  reached 
the  end  of  something,  as  if  she  were  very  tired,  and  had 
gratefully  come  to  a  welcome  resting  place.  She 
turned  her  gaze  out  the  open  door  where  the  forest  fell 
away  in  vast  undulations  to  a  range  of  snow-capped 
mountains  purple  in  the  autumn  haze,  and  a  verse  that 
Bill  had  once  quoted1  came  back  to  her: 

"  Oh,  to  feel  the  Wind  grow  strong 

Where   the   Trail   leaps   down. 
I  could  never  learn  the  way 
And  wisdom  of  the  Town." 

She  blinked.  The  town  —  it  seemed  to  have  grown 
remote,  a  fantasy  in  which  she  had  played  a  puppet 
part.  But  she  was  home  again.  If  only  the  gladness 
of  it  endured  strong  enough  to  carry  her  through  what 
ever  black  days  might  come  to  her  there  alone. 

She  would  gladly  have  cooked  her  supper  in  the 
kitchen  fireplace,  and  laid  down  to  sleep  under  her  own 
roof.  It  seemed  the  natural  thing  to  do.  But  she  had 
not  expected  to  find  the  cabin  livably  arranged,  and  she 
had  promised  the  Lauers  to  spend  the  night  with  them. 
So  presently  she  closed  the  door  and  walked  away 
through  the  woods. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 


September  and  October  trooped  past,  and  as  they 
marched  the  Billow  thickets  and  poplar  groves  grew  yel 
low  and  brown,  and  carpeted  the  floor  of  the  woods  with 
fallen  leaves.  Shrub  and  tree  bared  gaunt  limbs  to 
every  autumn  wind.  Only  the  spruce  and  pine  stood 
forth  in  their  year-round  habiliments  of  green.  The 
iiays  shortened  steadily.  The  nights  grew  long,  and  bit 
ter  with  frost.  Snow  fell,  blanketing  softly  the  dead 
leaves.  Old  Winter  cracked  his  whip  masterfully  over 
all  the  North. 

Day  by  day,  between  tasks,  and  often  while  she 
worked,  Hazel's  eyes  would  linger  on  the  edges  of  the 
clearing.  Often  at  night  she  would  lift  herself  on  elbow 
at  some  unexpected  sound,  her  heart  leaping  wild  with 
expectation.  And  always  she  would  lie  down  again,  and 
sometimes  press  her  clenched  hand  to  her  lips  to  keep 
back  the  despairing  cry.  Always  she  adjured  herself 
to  be  patient,  to  wait  doggedly  as  Bill  would  have  waited, 
to  make  due  allowance  for  immensity  of  distance  for 
the  manifold  delays  which  might  overtake  a  messen 
ger  faring  across  those  silent  miles  or  <a  man  hurrying 
to  his  home.  Many  things  might  hold  him  back.  But 
he  would  come.  It  was  inconceivable  that  he  might  not 


338          NORTH   OF   FIFTY-THREE 

Meantime,  with;  only  a  dim  consciousness  of  the  fact, 
she  underwent  a  marvelous  schooling  in  adaptation, 
gelf-restraint.  She  had  work  of  a  sort,  tasks  such  as 
every  housewife  finds  self-imposed  in  her  own,  home. 
She  was  seldom  lonely.  She  marveled  at  that.  It  was 
unique  in  her  experience.  All  her  old  dread  of  the  pro 
found  silence,  the  pathless  forests  which  infolded  like 
a  prison  wall,  distances  which  seemed  impossible  of 
span,  had  vanished.  In  its  place  had  fallen  over  her 
an  abiding  sense  of  peace,  of  security.  The  lusty- 
storm  winds  whistling  about  the  cabin  sang  a  restful 
lullaby.  When  the  wolves  lifted  their  weird,  melan 
choly  plaint  to  the  cold,  star- jeweled  skies,  she  listened 
without  the  old  shudder.  These  things,  which  were 
wont  to  oppress  her,  to  send  her  imagination  reeling 
along  morbid  ways,  seemed  but  a  natural  aspect  of  life, 
of  which  she  herself  was  a  part. 

Often,  sitting  before  her  glowing  fireplace,  watching 
a  flame  kindled  with  her  own  hands  with  wood  she  her 
self  had  carried  from  the  pile  outside,  she  pondered  this. 
It  defied  her  powers  of  self-analysis.  She  could  only 
accept  it  as  a  fact,  and  be  glad.  Granville  and  all  that 
Granville  stood  for  had  withdrawn  to  a  more  or  less  re 
mote  background.  She  could  look  out  over  the  frost- 
epangled  forests  and  feel  that  she  lacked  nothing — * 
nothing  save  her  mate.  There  was  no  impression  of 
transient  abiding;  no  chafing  to  be  elsewhere,  to  do 
otherwise.  It  teas  home,  she  reflected;  perhaps  that 
was  why. 

A  simple  routine  served  to  fill  her  Says.  She  kept 
Ber  house  shining,  she  cooked  her  food,  carried  in  hex* 


Bill  stood   before   the   fireplace,   his  shaggy   fur  cap  pushed 
far  back  on  his  head.     Page  341. 


AFTER   MANY    DAYS  339 

fuel.  Except  on  days  of  forthright  storm  she  put  on 
ber  snowshoes,  and  with  a  little  rifle  in  the  crook  of  her 
arm  prowled  at  random  through  the  woods  —  partly 
because  it  gave  her  pleasure  to  range  sturdily  afield, 
partly  for  the  physical  brace  of  exertion  in  the  crisp 

-air.     Otherwise  she  curled  comfortably  before  the  fire- 

•  place,  and  sewed,  or  read  something  out  of  Bill's  cath 
olic  assortment  of  books. 

It  was  given  her,  also,  to  learn  the  true  meaning  of 
neighborliness,  that  kindliness  of  spirit  which  is  stifled 
by  stress  in  the  crowded  places,  and  stimulated  by  like 
stress  amid  surroundings  where  life  is  noncomplex,  di 
rect,  where  cause  and  effect  tread  on  each  other's  heels. 
Every  day,  if  she  failed  to  drop  into  their  cabin,  came 
one  of  her  neighbors  to  see  if  all  were  well  with  her. 
Quite  as  a  matter  of  course  Jake  kept  steadily  re 
plenished  for  her  a  great  pile  of  firewood.  Or  they 
would  come,  babies  and  all,  bundled  in  furs  of  Jake's 
trapping,  jingling  up  of  an  evening  behind  the  frisky 
bays.  And  while  the  bays  munched  hay  in  Roaring 
Bill  WagstafPs  stable,  they  would  cluster  about  the 

^open  hearth,  popping  corn  for  the  children,  talking, 
always  with  cheerful  optimism. 

Behind  Lauer's  mild  blue  eyes  lurkeo!  a  mind  that  bur- 

|rowe<i  incessantly  to  the  roots  of  things.  He  had  lived 
and  worked  and  read,  and,  pondering  it  all,  he  had 
summed  up  a  few  of  the  verities. 

"Life,  it  iss  giffen  us,  und  ve  must  off  i£  make  der 
fiest  ve  can,"  he  said  once  to  Hazel,  fondling  a  few 
book  he  had  borrowed  to  read  at  home.  "  Life  iss 
goot,  just  der  liffing  off  life,  if  only  ve  go  not  astray; 


340          NORTH   OF   FIFTY-THREE 

afder  der  voolish  dings  —  und  if  der  self-breservation 
struggle  vears  us  not  out  so  dot  ve  gannot  enjoy  being 
alife.  So  many  iss  struggle  und  slave  under  terrible 
conditions.  Und  it  iss  largely  because  off  ignorance. 
Ve  know  not  vot  ve  can  do  —  und  ve  shrink  vrom  der 
unknown.  Here  iss  acres  by  der  dousand  vree  to  der 
man  vot  can  off  it  make  use  —  und  dousands  vot  liffs 
und  dies  und  neffer  hass  a  home.  Here  iss  goot,  glean 
air  —  und  in  der  shmoke  und  shmells  und  dirty  streets 
iss  a  ravage  of  tuberculosis.  Der  balance  iss  not  true. 
Und  in  der  own  vay  der  rich  iss  full  off  drouble  —  drunk 
mit  eggcitement,  veary  mit  bleasures.  Ach,  der  voods 
und  mountains  und  streams,  blenty  off  food,  und  a 
kindly  neighbor  —  iss  not  dot  enough?  Only  der  abnor 
mal  vants  more  as  dot.  Und  I  dink  der  drouble  isa 
largely  dot  der  modern,  high-bressure  cifilization  makes 
for  der  abnormal,  vedder  a  man  iss  a  millionaire  or 
vorks  in  der  brewery,  contentment  iss  a  state  off  der 
mind  —  und  if  der  mind  vorks  mit  logic  it  vill  content 
find  in  der  simple  dings." 

It  sounded  like  a  pronouncement  of  Bill's.  But 
Lauer  did  not  often  grow  serious.  Mostly  he  was  jo 
vially  cheerful,  and  his  wife  likewise.  The  North  had 
emancipated  them,  and  they  were  loyal  to  the  source 
of  their  deliverance.  And  Hazel  understood,  because 
she  herself  had  found  the  wild  land  a  benefactor,  kindly 
in  its  silence,  restful  in  its  forested  peace,  a  cure  for 
sickness  of  soul.  Twice  now  it  had  rescued  her  from 
herself. 

November  and  December  went  their  appointed  way 
—  and  still  no  word  of  Bill.  If  now  and  then  her  pit 


AFTER   MANY    DAYS  341 

low  was  wet  she  struggled  mightily  against  depression. 
She  was  not  lonely  in  the  dire  significance  of  the  word 
* — 'but  she  longed  passionately  for  him.  And  she  held 
fast  to  her  faith  that  he  would  come. 

The  last  of  the  old  year  she  went  little  abroad,  ven 
tured  seldom  beyond  the  clearing.  And  on  New  Year's 
Eve  Jake  Lauer's  wife  came  to  the  cabin  to  stay. 

Hazel  sat  up,  wide  awake,  on  the  instant.  There 
was  not  the  slightest  sound.  She  had  been  deep  in 
sleep.  Nevertheless  she  felt,  rather  than  knew,  that 
some  one  was  in  the  living-room.  Perhaps  the  sound 
of  the  door  opening  had  filtered  through  her  slumber. 
She  hesitated  an  instant,  not  through  fear,  because  in 
the  months  of  living  alone  fear  had  utterly  forsaken 
her;  but  hope  had  leaped  so  often,  only  to  fall  sick- 
eningly,  that  she  was  half  persuaded  it  must  be  a  dream. 
Still  the  impression  strengthened.  She  slipped  out  of 
bed.  The  door  of  the  bedroom  stood  slightly  ajar. 

Bill  stood  before  the  fireplace,  his  shaggy  fur  cap 
pushed  far  back  on  his  head,  his  gauntlets  swinging  from 
the  cord  about  his  neck.  She  had  left  a  great  bed  of 
coals  on  the  hearth,  and  the  glow  shone  redly  on  his 
frost-scabbed  face.  But  the  marks  of  bitter  trail  buck 
ing,  the  marks  of  frostbite,  the  stubby  beard,  the  tiny 
icicles  that  still  clustered  on  his  eyebrows ;  while  these 
traces  of  hardship  tugged  at  her  heart  they  were  for 
gotten  when  she  saw  the  expression  that  overshadowed 
his  face.  Wonder  and  unbelief  and  longing  were  all 
mirrored  there.  She  took  a  shy  step  forward  to  see 
what  riveted  his  gaze.  And  despite  the  choking  sen- 


342          NORTH   OF   FIFTY-THREE 

sation  in  her  throat  she  smiled  —  for  she  had  taken  off 
her  little,  beaded  house  moccasins  and  left  them  lying 
on  the  bearskin  before  the  fire,  and  he  was  staring  down 
at  them  like  a  man  fresh-wakened  from  a  dream,  unbe 
lieving  and  bewildered. 

With  that  she  opened  the  door  and  ran  to  him.  He 
started,  as  if  she  had  been  a  ghost*  Then  he  opened 
his  arms  and  drew  her  close  to  him. 

"  Bill,  Bill,  what  made  you  so  long?  "  she  whispered. 
"  I  guess  it  served  me  right,  but  it  seemed  a  never-end 
ing  time." 

"  What  made  me  so  long?  "  He  echoed,  bending  his 
rough  cheek  down  against  the  warm  smoothness  of  hers. 
"  Lord,  /  didn't  know  you  wanted  me.  I  ain't  no  te- 
lepathist,  hon.  You  never  yeeped  one  little  word  since 
I  left.  How  long  you  been  here  ?  " 

"  Since  last  September."  She  smiled  up  at  him. 
"  Didn't  Courvoiseur's  man  deliver  a  message  from  me 
to  the  mine?  Didn't  you  come  in  answer  to  my  note?  " 

"  Great  Caesar's  ghost  —  since  September  —  alone ! 
You  poor  little  girl !  "  he  murmured.  "  No,  if  you  sent 
word  to  me  through  Courvoiseur  I  never  got  it.  Maybe 
something  happened  his  man.  I  left  the  Klappan  with 
the  first  snow.  Went  poking  aimlessly  over  around  the 
Finlay  River  with  a  couple  of  trappers.  Couldn't  set 
tle  down.  Never  heard  a  word  from  you.  I'd  given 
you  up.  I  just  blew  in  this  way  by  sheer  accident. 
Girl,  girl,  you  don't  know  how  good  it  is  to  see  you 
again,  to  have  this  warm  body  of  yours  cuddled  up  to 
me  again.  And  you  came  right  here  and  planted  your- 
fielf  to  wait  till  I  turned  up?  " 


AFTER   MANY   DAYS  343 

"  Sure!  '*  She  laughed  happily.  w  But  I  sent  you 
void,  even  if  you  never  got  it.  Oh,  well,  it  doesn't  mat 
ter.  Nothing  matters  now.  You're  here,  and  I'm  here, 
and  —  Dh,  Billy-boy,  I  was  an  awful  pig-headed  idiot. 
Do  you  think  you  can  take  another  chance  with  me?  '* 

M  Say  " —  he  held  her  off  at  arm's  length  admiringly 
— — **  do  you  want  to  know  how  strong  I  am  for  taking  a 
chance  with  you?  Well,  I  was  on  my  way  out  to  flag 
the  next  train  East,  just  to  see  —  just  to  see  if  you 
still  eared  two  pins;  to  see  if  you  still  thought  your 
game  was  better  than  mine." 

"Well,  you  don't  have  to  take  any  eastbound  train 
to  find  that  out,"  she  cried  gayly.  "  I'm  here  to  tell 
you  I  care  a  lot  more  than  any  number  of  pins.  Oh, 
I've  learned  a  lot  in  the  last  six  months,  Bill.  I  had 
to  hurt  myself,  and  you,  too.  I  had  to  get  a  jolt  to 
jar  me  out  of  my  self -centered  little  orbit.  I  got  it, 
and  it  did  me  good.  And  it's  funny.  I  came  back 
here  because  I  thought  I  ought  to,  because  it  was  our 
home,  but  rather  dreading  it.  And  I've  been  quite  con 
tented  and  happy — -only  hungry,  oh,  so  dreadfully- 
hungry,  for  you." 

Bill  kissed  her. 

"  I  didn't  make  any  mistake  in  you,  after  all,"  he 
said.  '*  You're  a  real  partner.  iYou're  the  right  stuff. 
I  love  you  more  than  ever.  If  you  made  a  mistake  you 
paid  for  it,  like  a  dead-game  sport.  What's  a  few 
months?  We've  all  our  life  before  us,  and  it's  plain 
sailing  now  we've  got  our  bearings  again." 

"  Amen !  "   she  whispered.     "I  —  but,   say,  man  of 
,  you've  been  on  the  trail,  and  I  know  what  tha 


344          NORTH    OF    FIFTY-THREE 

trail  is.  You  must  be  hungry.  I've  got  all  kinds  of 
goodies  cooked  in  the  kitchen.  Take  off  your  clothes, 
and  I'll  get  you  something  to  eat." 

"  I'll  go  you,"  he  said.  "  I  am  hungry.  Made  a 
long  mush  to  get  here  for  the  night.  I  got  six  huskies 
running  loose  outside,  so  if  you  hear  'em  scuffing 
around  you'll  know  it's  not  the  wolves.  Say,  it  was 
some  welcome  surprise  to  find  a  fire  when  I  came  in. 
Thought  first  somebody  traveling  through  had  put  up. 
Then  I  saw  those  slippers  lying  there.  That  was  sure 
making  me  take  notice  when  you  stepped  out." 

He  chuckled  at  the  recollection.  Hazel  lit  the  lamp, 
and  stirred  up  the  fire,  plying  it  with  wood.  Then  she 
slipped  a  heavy  bath-robe  over  her  nightgown  and  went 
into  the  chilly  kitchen,  emerging  therefrom  present!} 
with  a  tray  of  food  and  a  kettle  of  water  to  make  cof 
fee.  This  she  set  on  the  fire.  Wherever  she  moved 
Bill's  eyes  followed  her  with  a  gleam  of  joy,  tinctured 
with  smiling  incredulousness.  When  the  kettle  was 
safely  bestowed  on  the  coals,  he  drew  her  on  his  knee. 
There  for  a  minute  she  perched  in  rich  content.  Then 
she  rose. 

"  Come  very  quietly  with  me,  Bill,"  she  whispered, 
with  a  fine  air  of  mystery.  "  I  want  to  show  you  some 
thing." 

"  Sure !     What  is  it?  "  he  asked. 

"  Come  and  see,"  she  smiled,  and  took  up  the  lamp. 
Bill  followed  obediently. 

Close  up  beside  her  bed  stood  a  small,  square  crib. 
Hazel  set  the  lamp  on  a  table,  and  turning  to  the  bundle 
of  blankets  which  filled  this  new  piece  of  furniture,  drew 


AFTER   MANY    DAYS  345 

back  one  corner,  revealing  a  round,  puckered-up  in 
fant  face. 

"  For  the  love  of  Mike !  "  Bill  muttered.     "  Is  it  - 
is  it—" 

"  It's  our  son,"  she  whispered  proudly.  "  Born  the 
tenth  of  January  —  three  weeks  ago  to-day.  Don't, 
don't  —  you  great  bear  —  you'll  wake  him." 

For  Bill  was  bending  down  to  peer  at  the  tiny  morsel 
of  humanity,  with  a  strange,  abashed  smile  on  his  face, 
his  big,  clumsy  fingers  touching  the  soft,  pink  cheeks. 
And  when  he  stood  up  he  drew  a  long  breath,  and  laid 
one  arm  across  her  shoulders. 

"  Us  two  and  the  kid,"  he  said  whimsically.  "  It 
should  be  the  hardest  combination  in  the  world  to  bust. 
Are  you  happy,  little  person?  " 

She  nodded,  clinging  to  him,  wordlessly  happy.  And 
presently  she  covered  the  baby's  face,  and  they  went 
back  to  sit  before  the  great  fireplace,  where  the  kettle 
bubbled  cheerfully  and  the  crackling  blaze  sent  forth 
its  challenge  to  the  bevy  of  frost  sprites  that  held  high 
revel  outside. 

And,  after  a  time,  the  blaze  died  to  a  heap  of  glowing 
embers,  and  the  forerunning  wind  of  a  northeast  storm 
soughed  and  whistled  about  a  house  deep  wrapped  in 
contented  slumber,  a  house  no  longer  divided  against 
itself. 


THB    END 


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